The Wheel of Fortune
by Sandoz
Summary: Larry Trask, son of Sentinel creator Bolivar Trask, has experienced a dreadful change. But he couldn't be a mutant...could he? [UPDATE: Rogue and Larry make a connection, and Tanya Trask comes to a dangerous conclusion.]
1. Prologue: Family Photographs

**The Wheel of Fortune**

**An X-Men: Evolution fanfic by Sandoz**

**Disclaimer: X-Men: Evolution is the property of Marvel Comics and Kids WB. **

**Prologue: Family Photographs**

"The informant was right. This guy's definitely a mutant and it appears he's chasing someone."

Bolivar Trask's lips curled into a thin smile. He wished he could be with Shadow Team at that moment, discontent to merely follow their heels in the Stealth Pod that slowly maneuvered through the tight, putrid sewers. He would have liked to personally see the mutant's face as it realized there was no escape. The radio link with his small, well-trained group of mutant hunters managed to satisfy him, however.

He monitored the mutant's movements on the computer screen laid out before him. His men were represented by tiny green lights; the mutant was red. "Shadow Team, take the lead," he instructed.

"Target knows we're tracking him, but he's intent on pursuing his own quarry," said one solider over the link.

"Readings indicate that the guy he's chasing is _another_ mutant," added a second.

_So it's a mutant get-together in a sewer? How appropriate._ Folding his arms over his chest, Trask's smile disappeared. He shivered involuntarily; blast the pod's faulty heating system. _Not that their number will save them._

There was a crackle of static on the comm., and the next words he heard from the Shadow Team leader were not encouraging. Apparently the other mutant in their sights could control metal, and had actually used grating to hand over the masked mutant Shadow Team had first spotted. Well, far be it for them to look a gift horse in the mouth. It was great luck they had been informed that one of the mutants would be alone and ready for the taking. Just when the prototype was ready for testing…

"Let's take him while we can."

The mutant realized it had been led into a trap far too late. Surrounded on all sides by members of Shadow Team who lurked in the dark sewer tunnels, it was blinded by the bright searchlights of the mini-pods that had been sent to ensure its capture.

Trask's computer screen revealed that the mutant was right where he wanted it. "Fire."

The mini-pods electronically obeyed the command, firing from their guns a sticky, glue-like green substance. The cornered mutant howled like an animal as it was covered head to toe, unable to move a muscle as the substance hardened around it, freezing it in place.

By that time the Stealth Pod had finally made it to the scene. A staircase descended from the hovering pod, and Trask emerged. Ignoring the foul odor and the sewage, Dr. Trask approached his quarry and extended his hand, running it over the smooth surface of the bakelite. If the costumed mutant were free, it would not hesitate to use those fearsome adamantium claws on either Trask or his men; the good doctor was certain. But the Wolverine was now as harmless as a kitten, or, more correctly, a fly in amber.

Shadow Team Leader stepped forward, breaking his reverie. "Dr. Trask, we lost the other mutant. Some kind of…magnetic interference."

"Call off the search," Trask ordered. "Let's just get this one to the facility."

Refusing to let his emotions overcome him at that triumphant moment, Trask turned and briskly strode back into the pod, leaving the soldiers and assorted techs behind to collect the mutant and the data from its capture.

A confident smile tugging at the corners of his lips, Trask's mood was only dampened once the Stealth Pod finally returned to the base buried beneath the bowels of Bayville. One of his aides waited for him in the passageway.

"Dr. Trask," said the underling, "You have two messages. One is from Colonel Wraith--"

"Dammit," Trask cut him off. "What does that tyrant want now?"

"He's demanding more information on the prototype. Specifically, when there's going to be a demonstration."

"Perfect," spat Trask. "Tell him we've captured one of the Bayville mutants and the experiment can be conducted as soon as tomorrow." Trask picked up the pace to retreat to his personal quarters. The aide trailed behind him.

"And how should I reply to the other message, sir?"

Now he was annoyed. "What other message?"

"One of your children called your cellular phone."

Trask snorted. Why was the aide wasting his time? "Don't bother with that now. The prototype is going to be activated tomorrow for Christ's sake, whatever they want can wait."

---

Roughly two hours away from Bayville, in the middle of a row of identical brick townhouses, was Bolivar Trask's residence. On a table in the front hall were two photographs of the man: a rare, happy moment with him and his late wife Elizabeth, and a family portrait where he stood grim-faced and stiff, two small, finely dressed children standing at his left and right. The rest of the photos cluttering the mantelpiece were of the children later in life; little league baseball games, school plays, picnics by a lake.

_All that's missing is Jerry Mathis as the Beaver_, Larry Trask thought as his eyes fell upon the mantle. Didn't all families have displays like that, as part of an unspoken competition to see which family looked the most normal?

Head cocked to the side and talking into a frog-shaped telephone, Larry thumbed through a history textbook. "Yeah, yeah, questions one through fifteen. Complete sentences and all that. Why are you worrying about this now? It's Friday night. _Ow._"

Larry kicked the cardboard box his bare foot had slammed into under a table, and made a mental note to yell at his sister about leaving things laying around. Two months the Trasks had lived there, and unpacked boxes were still being stumbled upon. Meanwhile, the friend on the phone explained, in great detail, what he and his girlfriend were planning to do Saturday night through Sunday. Larry, his mind on his stinging foot, heard the words "car," "whipped cream," "all night," and something that sounded like "Daffy Duck."

"Uh-huh…yeah, Cal, whatever," Larry replied, hoping his embarrassment wasn't heard over the phone.

Larry heard the familiar chime of the doorbell ringing. It was followed by the voice of his little sister, who sounded particularly annoyed with him for whatever reason.

"Larry! That's the take-out! Get the door!" Tanya called from the keeping room.

Her brother could barely hear her over the blaring television. He rolled his eyes and dropped the textbook. "Hold on man," he said to Calvin. Larry hurried to the door and opened it; it wasn't a driver from King of the Orient on the other side, but a fourteen-year old girl.

"Hey, is Tanya here?" she asked, smiling a smile at Larry that showed off her very white teeth.

"Er--"

"Jess! You're right on time!" Tanya shoved her brother out of the way and ushered her friend in. "The food isn't here yet, but we called like an hour ago."

Picking up the phone that he had dropped when Tanya elbowed him, Larry said, "Okay, things are getting kinda crazy here, so I'll talk to you later…have fun…bye. _Tanya_."

His sister turned her head sharply, braid whipping over her shoulder. Her pert face was scowling. "What?"

Taking her arm, Larry whispered in her ear as Jessica settled in the keeping room and dropped her pink duffle bag. "You need to tell me when you're going to invite friends over."

Tanya sighed hugely. There were times when she wished her big brother was less of a Big Brother. She answered him with her usual tone of benign boredom. "Whatever. Oh! That must be the food!"

Responding to the doorbell, Tanya threw it open and, after a quick exchange of money, ran into the kitchen with arms carrying a large brown bag full of Chinese food. Jessica was hot on her heels.

Sighing, Larry went to close the door Tanya had left wide open. The delivery man's station wagon had already disappeared down the street and into the night.

"Tanya, you said you had the house to yourself. Why is your brother here?"

"Oh, Larry doesn't count; he's just a big nerd."

"You think so?" Jessica giggled, eyeing his back from the open doorway.

Larry's brow furrowed. He wasn't sure whether the girls were oblivious to how loud they were or if they simply didn't care if he heard them talking about him. He was ready to slam the door when he noticed something outside. He squinted because of the darkness, but there, silhouetted under a streetlight, was a woman. She stood directly across the street from the Trask house, and seemed to be staring at him. His hackles raised, Larry was on the verge of calling out to her when he saw what she held in her hand—a red-tipped cane. Realization dawning upon him, Larry also noticed that she was wearing dark glasses.

_She's blind._ Larry immediately swore at himself for thinking a blind woman was staring at him, or worse, spying on his house. His dad's paranoia must have been wearing off on him.

Larry shook his head wearily, and closed the door. He paused to stare at the answering machine, a fleeting hope that maybe his father had called back and they had missed it. The red, blinking "0" under MESSAGES told him that was not the case. Larry was not really surprised or sad. But whether because of his brief moment of fear earlier or a deeper impulse, Larry made sure to lock the door before joining the girls in the kitchen.

As for Irene Adler, she continued to wait.

---

Trask's quarters were Spartan; an army cot with musty blankets, a small dresser for a change in uniform and an alarm clock. Despite the many nights he spent under Bayville, his official home was hours away. This was temporary; only temporary.  
Sitting on the cot, Trask reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

Without really knowing why, his fingers removed a faded photo; Elizabeth was alive and radiant, the four-month old Tanya in her arms. Larry hid behind her skirt, peeking out at the camera shyly. Trask couldn't recall the last time he had looked at the picture, and after the moment had passed he cursed himself for being sentimental. Returning it to the confines of his leather wallet, Trask stood, suddenly discontent.

He roamed the base, ignoring the curious glances from the technicians and soldiers he passed. Finally reaching his destination, Trask placed his palm on a black box in front of the door for a fingerprint scan. He was allowed to continue.

"There you are," he said, grinning with pride like a new father. Standing tall and erect in the shadows was the fruit of years of hard labor, its eyes glowing faintly. And it couldn't be needed more, with the growing threat that it was created to destroy. Before long Trask would be presented with the captured mutant, who was surely being freed of the bakelite at that very moment. His mouth was almost watering with anticipation.

"Soon," Trask said.

---

The hired car came exactly at the designated time, and the driver asked Irene no questions as she slipped into the back and rested against the leather seats. She knew where she would be needed when her vision came to pass, and that was enough. If her eyes had the gift of sight, she would have seen Larry Trask through the window of his house, turning off the lights as his sister and her friend lay exhausted on the couch. Soon he would be asleep. And though he didn't know it then, it would be his last night as a human being.

"Soon," Irene whispered to no one.

---

Larry Trask tossed and turned in his bed. Beads of sweat dotted his brow, and he had kicked off his blankets. Despite his struggles, the dream did not end. It was a powerful dream, the likes of which he had not had for a very long time. It was almost real…and what he saw was beyond his imagination.

"My guardian of the human race…" Larry murmured in his slumber, though the words belonged to someone else, "The Sentinel…it lives."

**  
To Be Continued.**

**  
A/N**: To correct some misconceptions apparent in my reviews so far: Larry and Tanya Trask are not my creations (which I thought would be apparent since I did not claim ownership in the disclaimer, but oh well). Larry is an old-school X-Men character, one of his claims to fame being that he was one who gave Alex Summers the codename Havok. Tanya was a friend of Rachel Summers, Scott and Jean's dimension-hopping daughter from the future.

Thanks for reading! Sandoz


	2. The Wheel of Fortune

**Chapter 1: The Wheel of Fortune**

It was a bright, breezy Saturday morning in March when Larry Trask's life as he knew it came to an end.

He woke up early that morning, put on his tracksuit, and left the house for a jog. Summerduck was a small, suburban community in upstate New York that was as quaint as its name. The blue skies, clean streets, and flowers on the trees belonged in a frame on a gallery wall, or so Larry thought as he ran. The neighbors even smiled and said hello when he passed them. It was one of the better communities the Trask family had moved to in the last five years, and Larry would be sad to leave it when it was time for the next inevitable relocation.

_It's better than the city, anyway. Christ, you can_ breathe _here_, Larry thought to himself. _It's peaceful…almost like a dream_.

Like a dream.

The uncomfortable pit in Larry's stomach returned; he had woken up with a strange feeling of unease, and now, as he jogged under the cloudless sky and the rustling green trees of Summerduck, New York, Larry Trask remembered his dream.

_A giant shadow is cast over the streets. It belongs to a humongous, lumbering machine in the shape of a man, eyes glowing like twin beacons. Its claw-like hand reaches forward, as if it can tear through the fabric of the teenager's dream and take him in its grasp_. _There are no colors; everything is tinted dark red_.

"Dad."

The word escaped Larry's lips, but he didn't know why. What did some half-remembered dream (inspired by some 50's cheapie on the Sci-Fi Channel, no doubt) have to do with his father? Larry furrowed his brow, feeling a headache coming on to join the stomachache.

He retraced his path back to the Trask townhouse, but as he approached the steps he looked across the street, almost expecting a woman in sunglasses to be there, watching him with sightless eyes.

---

Time had not been kind to Bolivar Trask, and as the man grew older and suffered from the death of a spouse his good looks faded, leaving him with a hard, almost jagged appearance. By studying the family photographs on the table in the front hall it was hard to believe his two children were of his blood. Larry was tall and attractive, with dark, perpetually tousled hair. Tanya, four years Larry's junior, was gaining on him in height, and had dyed her hair from brown to blonde. She sat at the kitchen table with her friend Jessica, who had spent Friday night sleeping over at the Trask residence, and both girls lingered over bowls of cereal. Their attention was on the deck of tarot cards spread out on the checkered tablecloth.

"Hey," said Larry breathlessly as he entered the room. Wrapped up in the cards, Tanya ignored him, but Jessica's eyes followed him to the fridge where he got himself a bottle of water. Larry never noticed her.

"Green is a nice color on you," Jessica commented casually, admiring Larry's tracksuit. She wrapped a finger around a curl of her hair.

"Oh. Thanks," replied a distant Larry, his back to the girls. It was fortunate for Tanya he was unable to see the irritated glare she was giving him.

Tanya spoke up. "Jess, I don't see the Prince of Cups anywhere in the deck. Do you think you left it in your bag upstairs?"

"I don't think so…"

"Can you check?"

Jessica stood up, issuing a loud sigh. "Fine, fine."

Only after the girl was up the steps did Tanya say what she had been thinking. "God! I thought I would have to break her off you with a chisel!"

"Hmm?" Larry gave his sister a curious look. He was drinking his water, oblivious to the world around him.

"Good morning, Larry! The earth says hello!" Tanya tilted her chair back and knocked on his head with a knuckle, having long ago mastered the annoyed baby sister voice.

He made a face. "Sorry. I spaced out."

"What's up?"

"Has Dad called at all today?" Not a direct answer, but Tanya picked up on his thoughts immediately.

"Nope. Not a word since Thursday. He didn't return my call. Uncle Robert is stopping by this afternoon though to check up on us and make dinner…he's pretty mad at Dad for all these late nights."

"I think we're going to move again soon." He spoke the words before he realized they were on his tongue, but as soon as they were released he knew in his gut he had touched on some of the unease he was feeling that morning.

Tanya was aghast. She leapt out of her seat and cornered him against the kitchen counter. "What? No way! We just moved—_Dad hasn't even unpacked all his boxes yet_!"

"I know, I know," Larry replied, raising a hand to calm her down. "Look, I'm sorry I said anything. Dad never talked to me about moving, it's just a feeling I had."

That pacified her for the moment, but she crossed her arms over her chest and scowled as if hoping to drive a confession out of him. "You had a _feeling_? Larry, are you all right?"

"I'm kinda under the weather, yeah," he answered, waving her off. The knot in his stomach tightened. "Just ignore me."

Jessica's voice came from the top of the staircase: "Hey, Tanya! It's not in my backpack!"

Tanya stomped her foot. "Great! It's bad enough all my friends are drooling over my big brother, it turns out he's a space case too!" She turned around in a huff and stormed up the steps to argue with Jessica. Larry was left alone in the kitchen to fend for himself.

"Just ignore me," Larry repeated.

He glanced at the table. Tanya's way of dealing with being uprooted so often was to latch onto whatever fads or interests the girls at her new school liked in order to secure a quick friend. With Summerduck and Jessica MacNeil came tarot cards. They had interesting names: The Hierophant, The Chariot, Temperance, The Hanged Man…one specifically caught Larry's eye. It was lying upside down, or "reversed" as Tanya would refer to it, and the image was of an ornate silver wheel suspended in the sky, a sphinx at its top and a devil at its bottom, the four corners branded with the symbols for the zodiac signs of Taurus, Scorpio, Leo and Aquarius.

Larry whispered its name. "The Wheel of Fortune."

"Larry!" It was Tanya's scolding voice that surprised him; taking in every detail of the tarot card, he hadn't heard either girl come back down. "Don't mess up our arrangement!"

Jessica put her hands on her hips. "Oh Tanya, he probably didn't mean to…Larry! I'll tell your fortune!" The girl eagerly grabbed his hand, her face lighting up.

Larry slipped his hand out of hers, careful not to brush her off too harshly, and said, "I don't believe in that stuff."

Jessica looked almost hurt. "Well, it could be just for fun…"

His hand touching his temple, Larry closed his eyes and shook his head. "No. But don't let me get in your way. I'm going upstairs and back to bed. Later."

Larry exited the kitchen, forgetting the tarot card he had dropped at his feet.

---

Larry decided to take a shower before hitting his aching head against a pillow. He liked the water hot to the point where it almost scalded, and let the bathroom fill with steam. He even started to hum, certain that his little sister and her friend were far from hearing range. The water drenching the top of his head, Larry closed his eyelids, only to see two red, glowing eyes staring back at him from the darkness--robotic eyes that lacked feeling or compassion.

"What's wrong with me?" Larry murmured aloud. What was it about that dream-- no different from any other dream he'd had since the day he appeared on Earth--that rattled him so? What was this feeling of _importance_, like it was real—and why did he keep thinking about his faraway father?

The clean, euphoric sensation Larry possessed when he got into the shower disappeared, and he was in the same confused rut as before. After putting on some fresh sweatpants he wiped the steam off the mirror and gazed into the familiar face that greeted him there. Tired eyes stared back at him, offering no new information.

Thoughts drifted back to the last phone conversation he had with his father. A "routine communication" as he would coldly refer to it when angry, it was the usual formalities: "How's school?" "How's work?" "Are you coming home?" And so on. It was a rare moment in time for father and son to share a heart to heart, and it was impossible for Bolivar to open up on a phone. However, last time had been different.

_"This is my most important project yet, Lawrence. I won't pretend I don't know how difficult these last few years have been for you and your sister, but soon you will understand everything. I've done everything for you, you know that."_

The memory coming back to him, Larry murmured aloud, "Dad…something's happened to Dad."

---

What finally broke Larry's troubled reverie was the sound of something shattering downstairs, like glass. Under normal circumstances he would have thought nothing of it, blaming the girls' clumsiness, but that particular morning he found himself hurrying down to the family room to see what had happened. The television was on, and Larry caught a brief glimpse of the monster movie they were watching—a big blue ape flung a car tire at an unseen foe. His eyes fell upon the broken glass on the floor, and then Tanya, who stood over it, her gaze transfixed on the screen. Both she and Jessica were oddly silent.

"Hey, Tanya--" Larry frowned. _She thinks_ I'm _the space case_? "You broke a glass! What are you two d--?"

"_Shut up_!" Tanya hissed, and it was then that Larry saw her face. The color had vanished from her skin, and her eyes were wide with something like fright. Jessica was holding a pillow close to her chest on the couch and biting her lower lip. His sister's head snapped back to watch what was unfolding on the television.

Larry's voice died in his throat as the reality of the situation slowly dawned upon him. It was no monster movie they were watching—he recognized the bug in the lower left corner of the screen advertising Channel 8 News. Urgent words scrolled across the bottom of the television: _This is not a hoax. Channel 8 is right here with our viewers witnessing this bizarre event_.

Bigfoot's bouncing blue brother was no longer onscreen; instead there was a boy with green-tinted skin and an impossibly long, slimy tongue mugging for the camera. He leapt atop a streetlight with the natural ability of a toad. More words flashed: _Live footage from Bayville, New York_.

The news camera suspended from an above helicopter jerked to the left in order to capture more of the stunning scene. A black woman rose into the air (_Flying! She's flying!_), and even from a distance Larry could see her eyes were glowing white. From her fingertips came bright bolts of electricity, and she used her amazing power to blast another flying car into oblivion.

There were more people—super-humans--monsters—running through the city streets of Bayville. Among them was a boy who could make the ground shake with a motion of his hand, a girl who could phase through solid matter like a ghost, and a boy who could only be described as a "living pincushion" given how he unsheathed spikes from his chest and shot them out with great force.

A newscaster's excited voice crackled on the airwaves. "More choppers are arriving on the scene to a get a look—police are nowhere to be found—Ernie, keep the camera steady! The whole world has to see this!"

And then, there it was. The jerky camera pulled back, exposing the enemy the strange, super-powered freaks were fighting. Larry's headache returned in full force, almost knocking him off his feet when he saw _it_. A towering metal behemoth with glowing eyes advanced through downtown Bayville with slow, deliberate steps. Its chest cavity opened, revealing a launcher for heat-seeking missiles.

The Sentinel was no figment of his imagination. Seeing it on the television right in front of him lifted the fog from Larry's memory, and it all came rushing back.

_Sentinel—guardian of the human race—why are you doing this—don't come near me—Tanya—_

"Dad!" Larry screamed.

_Red eyes—all red—I never asked for this—Fury--tint all your dreams red like—red—red like--BLOOD!_

"Larry! Larry! Oh, God!" Tanya shrieked after watching her brother collapse. His head slammed against the floor and she feared the worst. Jessica was on her feet, but could only stare and tremble as the world suddenly became a very different place.

"--Rest assured we're doing _everything_ in our power to get to the bottom of this--"

"What's your take, Senator? Are they men or monsters; and if they _are_ human, can we trust them?"

"--Alien invaders or, or some kind of strange mutations?"

---

Miles away in a dim motel room, Irene Adler felt the familiar sensation of a vision coming to pass. She did not need a television set or a radio to know what was happening in Bayville. A small shudder ran through her body, despite the warmth of her surroundings.

_What a very busy day this will be_, Irene thought with a grim smile.

And, for Larry Trask, the wheel of fortune began to turn.

**To Be Continued…**

**A/N**: Hooray for symbolism! The reversed tarot card did give a hint to Larry's fate, as the future is anything but uncertain in this story. To answer a couple questions:

**EmeraldKatsEye**: The Acolytes probably won't make personal appearances in this fic, so no Romy. Sorry.

**Steven P. P.**: Yes, this will be something of an AU fic, but there won't be any serious, life-altering changes to the episodes in Seasons 3 and 4.

**me**: Nice analysis! You're not far off the mark.

Thanks for reading, everyone! --Sandoz


	3. Inner Demons

**Chapter 2: Inner Demons**

Larry awoke Sunday morning in the hospital, and the first thing he saw was his sister's worried face.

"Larry!" she exclaimed with a small squeal. For a moment it looked as if she would pounce on him, but instead she bolted out the door, calling for a doctor.

Dimly becoming aware of his surroundings, Larry noted the hard mattress underneath him, the coarse blanket covering his body and the steady beeps of machinery in the room. The middle-aged patient in the bed next to him was watching a cable access religious program, with the Reverend Stryker looking like an angel of death in his black suit as he preached about the end times and…'_mutation_?'

"…Who were these beings? Not human, surely, as you have all seen their ungodly powers and their inhuman faces. Mutants? I call them demons! And science has once again proven to be the tool of the devil, as you saw that rampaging leviathan of steel destroy our streets and terrorize the faithful!"

A _'Leviathan of steel?'_ What the hell was the old man raving about? It sounded for a moment as if he were talking about…a robot…

Then, Larry remembered.

_The Sentinels live_.

Tanya bounced back into the room with a nurse and Robert Chalmers, a former federal judge and a longtime friend of the family. He was like an uncle to the Trask siblings, and with their father off on a lark with one of his projects Robert was the only adult they could count on.

"Larry, my boy!" Chalmers grinned, relieved to see him up.

"What happened?," Larry demanded to know, still dazed. "Someone tell me, what happened?"

"You blacked out suddenly and gave yourself quite a bump on the head when you fell," Chalmers explained. "And you gave your sister and me quite a scare!"

"No," Larry said. "Not that. What happened in Bayville? What happened?"

Chalmers' expression of joy faded. With a look of resignation he answered him as best he could. "The media's already named them 'mutants'. Yesterday the streets of Bayville were overrun with those strange people, who have inhuman appearances and ungodly powers. At first, people thought it was a stunt of some kind until they saw the damage the giant robot was doing to the city. No one had ever seen anything like it before. The robot was destroyed, taking half an office building with it, and the military tracked the mutants to their base of operations. They were outnumbered and outgunned, but the mutants _still _overwhelmed a small army. They got away. But everyone--and I _mean_ everyone--is looking for those people and an explanation as to what exactly the whole world just saw."

"The 'giant robot'?" murmured Larry from his hospital bed. "It's called a Sentinel."

Something like recognition flashed over Chalmers' face when Larry spoke those words, but it disappeared quickly. Larry had no time to question him about it, as Tanya latched onto her brother and squeezed him until he was out of breath. Her wet cheek brushed his, and he knew she had been crying. "I was so rattled, with everything that was happening…I couldn't deal with it if something happened to you, you're the only family I have!"

"We have Dad," Larry said firmly.

Tanya sniffled. "You heard what I said."

As Sunday continued there were reports that the mutants were on the move, and had attacked a government facility at an undisclosed location somewhere in the southwest. The stories of the mutants' powers spread like wildfire and consumed the airwaves. Swept away by the dramatic reports, Larry had chosen not to say anything of his dream, or ask where his father was.

---

"Larry, what happened to _you_?"

"I fell," he replied.

Calvin Rankin, a blonde, swaggering senior, was staring at the bandage on Larry's forehead. It was Monday morning at Armstrong High School and the words had spilled out of Calvin's mouth the minute Larry entered his first period class.

"You fell? Come on, Tanya clocked you one, didn't she? She's got a lot of nerve for a freshman." Cal laughed at his own little joke.

Larry didn't find it funny. The classroom was unusually quiet, and looking around he noticed that most people were either talking in whispers or wearing gloomy expressions. The televised incident with the "mutants" was still fresh in everyone's mind-- the world was suddenly a much larger and scarier place. Cal, however, was in good spirits, and Larry had a passing thought that his girlfriend's Saturday night visit had something to do with it. Ignoring Cal, Larry preserved his dignity by not mentioning that the cut on his head was the result of his fainting.

"My cousin's best friend lives in Bayville," a girl whispered in the back of the classroom later that period. "_He_ says the mutants are really aliens, and the robot was created by the government to fight them."

"Oh yeah?" replied her skeptical friend. "I heard the robot was the alien. You know, like the one in _The Day the Earth Stood Still_!"

"No way! That robot was a good guy."

Larry rested his chin on one hand, eyes fixed on the blank notebook paper on his desk. The teacher's voice was crystal clear, but Larry could only hear the gossiping girls. It was a struggle not to turn around and say, "They're not aliens, and that robot's called a _Sentinel_!", but an outburst would only give away the fact that something strange was happening to him and he had no idea what it was. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder at the two gossiping girls, and was spotted. Immediately clamming up, they blushed before whispering again, only much quieter this time.

"Larry just looked at us!"

"I'm going to ask him what he thinks about the mutants after class."

The other girl pelted her arm. "Lila, don't you dare!"

Feeling the heat rise to his cheeks, Larry covered his face with his hands. Cal elbowed him from the seat at his right, grinning wide and raising his eyebrows suggestively.

"Don't give me that look," Larry muttered, embarrassed.

"Oh come on, don't pretend you don't enjoy it. I wish _I _was in your shoes."

_I bet_, Larry thought glumly.

---

_The school parking lot is crowded as usual after class ends, even with all the students staying after for clubs and practices. Students file into yellow school buses or loiter by their cars, gabbing with friends. Cal turns his baseball cap sideways, smiling that crooked smile of his. He's laughing._

"The problem with you," Cal says with a shrug of his shoulders, "Is that you think too much."

_His back is turned to the traffic and he walks backwards, still chuckling. _

_"Cal, watch out--!"_

"Augh!"

Voices broke out in the classroom as Larry fell out of his seat with a resounding _thud_. Alarmed classmates jumped out of their seats and looked over their desks to see if he was all right.

"Yes, Mr. Trask? Is something the matter?" The Advanced Physics teacher, Mr. Houston, turned away from the blackboard and stared at him. "Did you have a little nightmare?"

Someone sniggered behind Larry. He looked around the room as if coming out of a trance. For some reason he could have sworn he was in the student parking lot and Cal was…

"Mr. Trask!" Huston raised his voice, irritated that he didn't have Larry's attention. "This is _most_ unlike you, Mr. Trask. Stay _awake_, and maybe I won't be tempted to call your father."

_That_ made Larry pay attention. He got up slowly, suddenly reminded why this guy was his least favorite teacher. _Yeah, students scream and collapse all the time. Nothing to worry about here, sir_.

"I'm…sorry. I won't doze off again."

"Hmmph." Mr. Huston turned around and resumed his lesson. Larry was true to his word, but his thoughts remained far away with his half-forgotten dream.

Behind him, he distinctly heard someone whisper, "What a freak."

---

"Calvin! Hey, Cal!"

Greeting his friend with a "Hey, what's up?" Cal slowed down to let Larry catch up with him as he roamed the hall after final bell. "You still look like a wreck, man. Shitty day?"

On the wall was one of those cheesy motivational posters meant to inspire students: _Study, and don't fail the test called life_. Larry's gaze lingered on it.

"I fell asleep in class," he confessed after a beat, mulling over what he should say next.

"Which one?"

"Physics with Huston."

Cal cringed. "Ouch! I hate it when he uses that prissy, girly voice. 'Mr. _Traaask_, please refrain from sleeping in my cla-_aaaasss_.'"

"Ha!" Larry laughed in spite of himself. Looking straight ahead, he saw the double-doors that would take them outside to the student parking lot. The hair on the back of his neck stood up.

"Cal, wait." Larry took hold of his friend's arm, stopping him where he was.

Cal raised his brow. "What's up, man?"

Suddenly, Larry realized he didn't know what to say. What was he doing? After all, it was just a dream! But nevertheless…he…

"Don't go just yet."

"Why not?" Cal wasn't suspicious, just curious.

Larry blurted out, "It's not safe!"

_Now _Cal was suspicious. Maybe whatever hit Larry in the head had affected his brain, but he was starting to act weird. Normally, Larry was the very image of calm and collected, but the Larry Trask standing next to him was unnerved, even spooky-looking.

"What's not safe?" Cal removed his arm from Larry's grip.

"The parking lot."

"Hell, I know that! Have you seen those student drivers? It's like they think this is _Deathrace 2000_ or something!" Cal pulled his baseball cap from his backpack and started to walk without Larry.

"Wait!" Larry cried. "_If you go out there you'll be hit by a car_!"

Not only did Cal's head spin around at Larry's exclamation but other students hanging out around the halls were also startled.

"What the hell kinda talk is that?" Cal frowned. His grim expression quickly cracked, however. "Oh wait. That's like that TV show, right? The one that has the dude from _Sixteen Candles_, you touch me and you see me die or some shit? Funny, Larry, very funny, try harder the next time."

Larry hurried after Cal, as he threw open the doors and strode outside. Larry persisted. "No! I'm not playing around!" Eyeing the people that looked at him strangely, Larry lowered his voice. "I know I'm talking nonsense, but I had a dream about it."

"Huh! Okay, man, as long as _you_ know you're talkin' nonsense."

"Okay, Cal, look, just take it from me that I have a hunch, all right?" Larry tried a new approach as they neared the location of his vision.

"A hunch?" Cal turned his baseball cap sideways, smiling a crooked smile. He laughed as if life was one big joke. "You know what your problem is? You think too much."

But as he said those words, Cal turned to face Larry and continued to walk backwards. He wasn't looking where he was going, and neither was the driver of a green Honda, who was fumbling with a soda can.

"Cal, watch out--!"

The senior in the Honda pulled straight out into the open student parking lot, plowing into Cal; shouts and startled gasps broke out at the sound of metal hitting flesh.

As with most accidents, it had happened too fast to stop—but it was not the sight of his injured friend that made Larry's stomach turn the way it did…it was the sickening sense of déjà vu.

"Calvin! Cal, are you all right?!" Snapping out of his stupor, Larry rushed to his friend's side. Cal's arm was bent and crooked from slamming into the car, but he hadn't been caught under the tires and there appeared to be no other serious damage. Larry shook his undamaged shoulder, trying to get a response. Momentarily in shock, Cal's eyes closed, and then opened. Making a pained sound in the back of his throat, his internal drive registered the fact that it was Larry looking over him.

"…You…!"

Larry drew back at the sound of that voice and the look of fear he had seen pass over his friend's eyes when he looked at him.

"Get out of the way!" barked the school nurse, who had been immediately called to the scene. She pushed Larry aside to help Cal, and, almost stumbling over his own feet, Larry tried to back away slowly and disappear from the gathering crowd. Some students made sure to step away from him, staring and then quickly averting their gaze. Larry didn't need to read minds to know that they had been the ones that had overheard his ravings to Cal moments before the accident.

Larry thought he heard a girl whispering his name, and sure enough, behind him at his right stood Jessica, looking unusually meek. His sister's friend who had once been so excited at the thought of holding his hand in hers and telling his fortune now regarded him as a stranger, or perhaps more accurately, a lunatic.

Larry rushed to his car, and drove home.

---

When Larry arrived home he was surprised to find that the door was unlocked. He hesitated, immediately suspecting prowlers, but was reassured by the voice that called to him from inside.

"Larry! How are you doing?"

It was Robert Chalmers, the man who lately was a bigger presence in the Trask siblings' life than their own father. Larry released a breath; of course Chalmers had his own key. The white-haired gentleman sitting in Larry's parlor was a sight for sore eyes after the events of the day.

"I'm…all right, sir," Larry replied slowly, not knowing what exactly he should say. "I didn't faint again, if that's what you came here to check up on."

Chalmers stroked his beard. "No, I didn't come here about that. I was worried about your sister and you with all this mutant business going on. Your father should be here with you two at a time like this, not me."

"You're right about that," Larry said with a sigh, sitting down on the leather sofa. "I think that's what Tanya's really upset about right now. Everything…_changes_…and Dad can't be bothered to pick up a phone."

"_You_, howeverdon't sound that upset."

"I should be," Larry conceded. "I'm the one who remembers what Dad was like before Mom died. She's grown up with him always being distant. But I know Dad isn't the worst father in the world, and we haven't done so bad, have we?"

Chalmers nodded his head. "Under the circumstances, no…Are you _sure_ you're all right? You look pale."

"I'm _all right_," he repeated, not convincing either of them.

Chalmers looked him over. "Are you sure there's nothing you need to tell me?"

"No," Larry said with a hint of anger, "I don't need to tell you anything. But you can tell me how I can reach Dad."

"Your father is working on his project, and you know you can't contact when he's working on a project."

"_You're_ the one who said he needs to contact us."

Chalmers scoffed. "Please, Larry, what makes you think I know these things? If the project is under wraps, which we both know it is, Bolivar wouldn't hand out his cell phone number to old retired business partners." He waved his hand, dismissing the subject. "Forget what I said. You were right, your father isn't terrible, so let him call _you_ when he can."

---

Larry would have liked to follow his "Uncle" Robert's advice, but questions gnawed at his stomach all evening and into the night, and he knew his father was the only one who could answer them.

_Dad's been working on a secret project for weeks_, Larry recollected_. I dream about the Sentinel, and it comes true. More than that, I know in my head that Dad's involved somehow. Hell breaks loose in Bayville, the whole world goes into shock, and Dad's cell phone doesn't ring. Something's up_!! The pieces were beginning to come together in his head, but the greater image was still blurry.

"Mutants--just what are they?"

He lay in bed mulling over that question. It was all he could think about when he didn't dare sleep…or dream.

"God damn it," Larry cursed, sitting up in bed and throwing off the covers. _I need to do something about this now_. He opened his bedroom door slowly, hoping the old wood wouldn't creak and stir Tanya in the next room, and headed down the hall.

Looking at his father's bedroom door, Larry felt like a little kid again, one who had been told to never enter a room without knocking, and was forbidden to ever, ever disturb his father's work. The unwelcome feelings of nostalgia didn't deter him, however, and he entered. Larry flipped on the light and saw that his sister had been right; Dad hadn't unpacked his boxes, despite officially living in Summerduck for two months. That obstacle wouldn't stop his son from finding what he needed and Larry was quick to rip open the unlabeled cardboard boxes and rummage. Most contained clothes, personal affects, old family photo albums (of course Dad didn't unpack _those_) or books. The lack of sleep was beginning to wear Larry down when he struck gold with the seventh box. It contained several binders and manila folders detailing his father's projects. Most of it was lost on Larry, but what really mattered to him was the Rolodex containing a list of phone numbers.

Scanning the list of digits, his eyes stopped on the header marked BAYVILLE INSTALATION. Bayville, yes, Bayville; he remembered his father talking about the work in Bayville. Larry made a grab for the phone resting on his father's nightstand, and pounded the numbers on the keypad. It started to ring.

"Come on, come on, and please be there…" Larry pleaded with growing desperation.

Finally someone picked up. There was crackle of interference, but Larry heard the unmistakable voice of Bolivar Trask.

"Who is this?" He sounded angry.

"Dad, I know it's late--"

"Lawrence!" Bolivar hissed. "How did you get this number?"

His son told the truth. "I looked it up. Dad, I know something's going on with you and the Sentinel…"

"_What _did you say?"

"I dreamt about it. Something happened to me, and I dreamt about it before I saw it on television. I knew about it! And yesterday afternoon it happened again. I saw my friend get hit by a car, and it _happened_. What's going on?" Larry was glad he was alone in the darkened room. He knew he would look crazed to anyone else.

For several seconds Bolivar said nothing, and Larry feared that they had been disconnected. When he spoke again, he sounded much calmer and even understanding.

"We can't talk about this right now. The situation in Bayville is…deteriorating. Don't worry, son, I'll be back in Summerduck soon and I'll explain everything to you."

"But Dad--" Larry's words died on the tip of his tongue as his father hung up. He had sorely hoped for more information, but at least there was confirmation that Bolivar had answers for his questions. Burying his face in his hands, Larry took small relief from that fact.

Of course, he had no idea that the phone line was bugged.

**To be Continued…**

**A/N**: Another chapter done! This one had three appearances from the X-Men comics—Rev. Stryker, recognizable in X2 as a bitter military man as opposed to the crazed preacher he was in comics, Judge Chalmers, who played a big part in Larry's X-Men storyline, and Cal Rankin AKA The Mimic, who could, as his name suggests, mimic the powers of others, especially mutants. Considering Cal had a mad scientist father of his own, he seemed like a good candidate for the role of Larry's friend. The Cal here is based on the version that appeared in issue #6 of the Evo comic, but as that was not in continuity Cal has no previous history with Spyke or the X-Men in this fic.

bhoodfan: Glad you liked Tanya. I won't be getting rid of her soon, as she has a big part to play in things. (And I can picture her hanging out with Quinn…)

me: The reverse Wheel of Fortune card means a sudden turn for this worse, or major bad luck and ill fortune. So things are looking a little bleak for the young Mr. Trask.

Thanks for reading, everyone! --Sandoz


	4. Run like Hell

**Chapter 3: Run like Hell**

Somewhere in Nevada, between the Groom and Papoose mountain ranges, under the dry, alkali Groom Lake, there was an extensive underground facility. This place was known by the military and modern conspiracy theorists as Area 51, and inside it, Colonel John Wraith was furious.

The mutant situation had gotten rapidly out of hand in just a few scant days. The leak in SHEILD had given his operatives the location of two mutie nests in Bayville, New York, and they in turn had funded Bolivar Trask's pet project, knowing he would have all the test subjects he would ever need there. But an unknown and unexpected disruption had exposed the existence of the Sentinel prototype to the mutants, and worse yet, it had unleashed the robot on the city streets. Now the entire country was demanding to know more about "_homo superior_," and the authorities had yet to present a mutant's head on a silver plate. To make matters worse, mutants had somehow infiltrated Area 51 and had rescued their captured comrades, plunging the entire base into chaos.

"That damn Trask," Wraith muttered as he scanned the newest report of the Bayville incident. "He's responsible for this."

Wraith was a big cinderblock of a man who dressed in combat fatigues, like he expected to be shipped off to battle any day. If someone were to ask him, Wraith would reply that there _was_ a war going on—a gene war. A series of scars marred his face, and to the trained eye they would have looked like claw marks. He heard the door slide open from behind him, and turned in his swivel chair to face one of his subordinates.

"Report," Wraith commanded.

The younger military man complied after saluting. "'Mystique' has been properly contained. Seven of the nineteen men that were needed to sedate her are currently being hospitalized. Two are not expected to live."

"Jesus," Wraith scoffed. "What are we teaching these boys? It's like they've never fought a mutie before…"

"Dr. Trask's base is being searched by the Bayville authorities, though we were informed that all top secret data pertaining to Project Sentinel was destroyed before our men fled."

"And what of Trask?"

"Still at large, sir. Though Section 2 forces are tailing him."

"Good, good."

"Sir, there have also been some interesting developments regarding Dr. Trask. As you know, his home phone line has been tapped to prevent any leaks of information regarding Project Sentinel. An hour ago there was some activity on the line that you need to see." The subordinate stepped forward and presented Wraith with a thin packet of papers. "It's a transcript of a conversation, Colonel."

Nodding his head, Wraith scanned the documents and the notes below. Finally, he threw back his ugly, scarred head and let out a laugh. "This _is_ luck! Send some of the men who aren't cleaning up the mess here to pick him up, standard procedure."

"Complete disappearance?"

Wraith glared. "What, you got shit for brains? That's standard procedure with these freaks, all right. And make sure you pick him up before Daddy Dearest does. We don't want them talking to each other. Do whatever it takes."

"Understood."

---

"Larry! Get up already! Are you coming to school or aren't you?"

Tanya had resorted to pounding her brother's door with her fists when he didn't answer her calls, and was so irritated she didn't care if she knocked it down. It wasn't like him to be late, and she was getting ready to scream his name again when a thought struck her—_what if Larry had had another episode_?

"Hey! Larry! Larry, are you all right?!" she cried, her anger quickly turning to anxiety.

The door was unlocked from the inside and opened a crack. Larry's pale, tired face peered out, and Tanya saw that he was still wearing the shorts he had slept in.

"I wish people would stop asking me that," he said groggily.

"God! You look awful!" Tanya blurted out with a little sister's honesty. She covered her mouth, but the words were already spoken. "Um, I thought maybe you…"

Larry wiped the sand from his eyes. "You better be off. You're going to be late."

Tanya threw up her arms in disbelief. "If I'm late, it's my _space case brother's_ fault! You're not even wearing pants!"

"I'm not going to school. Hurry up and catch the bus."

Tanya was briefly taken aback. Her voice took a softer tone as she asked, "I mean it, bro, are you feeling okay? This isn't like you."

"Jesus Christ! I'll skip school if I want to!" Larry snapped. "Just go!"

With that, the door was slammed in Tanya's face. She stared, goggle-eyed, and then let loose a colorful string of curses directed at Larry's person. She was still muttering about Larry's sexual deficiencies when she exited the townhouse. From his bedroom her brother stared out through the shades and watched her hurry down the street. He sighed.

What neither Trask sibling noticed was the old station wagon parked across the street, with a casually dressed man sitting behind the wheel. He pretended to read the newspaper in his hands while a tiny camera strategically placed in the rear view mirror captured Tanya's movements. In the man's ear was a small radio from which he heard his orders. For the moment, it was silent.

---

Larry had hated to yell at his sister, but he was tired, frustrated, and, to be frank about the matter, he just didn't want to deal with her. He didn't want to deal with any of them—he didn't want to see the uncomfortable looks on Calvin and Jessica's faces at school, and he especially didn't want to listen to Mr. Chalmers' politely condescending speeches about his father.

Larry had trouble sleeping after his unsatisfying talk with his dad the night before. It was only when his body couldn't take the fatigue anymore that he finally collapsed on the bed instead of pacing the floor and burning a hole in the carpet. Once Tanya was out of the house Larry crawled back under his blankets, covering his head with a pillow to block out the golden shafts of sunlight that filtered in through his window.

He didn't know what to do with himself. His body demanded more sleep, but his mind refused. He couldn't deal with another vision. He couldn't sit on his ass and wait by the phone for his father to return the call either.

_And I can't go outside_, Larry thought with mounting fear. Was he going crazy? He could remember his last vision with perfect clarity, more so than when he dreamt of the Sentinel and Cal's accident.

_It is his street, the same one he jogs on every weekend. He's running this time as well, but he is not alone. Men in black suits are on his heels. He (_he is me_) runs but he doesn't get far. Tires screech and a white van impedes his escape. An alley offers an exit, but it has lied to him. Trapped on all sides, he _(he is me)_ can do nothing as his attackers close in._

_And then--_

"If I leave the house today, I'm going to be attacked," Larry murmured aloud. Crazy or not (and he was fully, bitterly aware he was talking to himself) he knew it was true and that was all there was to it. "So just don't go anywhere," he told himself. "It doesn't have to be the future at all."

When he got too fidgety Larry pulled himself out of bed and went downstairs to make coffee. He couldn't find sugar or cream, so it was black and unpleasant, but a good eye-opener for a boy who didn't want to sleep. The house's silence grew to be unnerving, so he sought solace with the television. It was on the same station it had been on when he, Tanya, and Jessica witnessed the mutants fighting the Sentinel live, and probably hadn't been changed since then. Larry's eyes were opened once again, for the images of the mutants were still being run on full display.

"The majority of the mutants caught on camera have been officially identified. Most were young people attending the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters or residents of the Brotherhood of Bayville Boarding House," reported newscaster Frank Lee.

Larry's attention remained on the screen even as the hot cup of coffee threatened to burn his hand. The pictures shown were blurry from being blown up (they were taken from a yearbook, most likely) and Larry felt a pang in his chest as he realized the mutants were his age—or younger—and they all looked like perfectly normal kids he would bump into in the halls of Armstrong High. There was a beautiful redhead, a stern-looking boy in shades, a long haired rebel type, and a Goth girl…hell, there was even a fat guy. Larry found it all very unsettling.

_Mutants_. With a name like that, they might as well be deformed freaks that crawled out of the sewers and bathed in nuclear waste, like something straight out of a bad Sci-Fi Channel marathon. They shouldn't have looked normal.

And Larry shouldn't have felt so connected to them.

---

Larry stayed on the couch in front of the TV, getting up only to eat lunch and use the bathroom. Watching the television under a heavy blanket, he remained in the anxious state between being asleep and awake and listened to the reports about mutants until he almost had it all memorized. The curtains were drawn and the lights were off, and slowly Larry became unaware of the passage of time.

Outside, it grew darker.

At some point Larry closed his eyes and fell asleep. It was a long nap, and blessedly free of any disturbing visions of events yet to pass. He awoke with a start, however, when the phone in the next room rang. He glanced at the clock on the opposite wall and was startled at the late hour. There was no time to be angry for falling asleep; he stumbled off the couch, one leg still sleeping, and grabbed the phone. He didn't need a vision or caller ID to know that it was Tanya, who should have been home hours earlier.

"Tanya," he said into the receiver.

"Larry! Hey, I know you're not feeling well, but can you, um, pick me up?"

"What?" He groaned. "Where are you?"

"At the library. Jessica and I went to do some research for a paper, but it had to close early today. Her mom was supposed to pick us up at eight but her cell phone isn't on so we can't get in touch with her. I didn't call and tell you I would be late because I thought you'd still be in bed sick…so can you come?"

_It is his street, the same one he jogs on every weekend. He's running this time as well, but he is not alone._

"I…can't." Larry found the words almost impossible to say. How on earth could he explain himself to her?

"Please? We don't want to sit here on the library steps by ourselves for an hour. It's getting dark! How do we know some…some _mutant_ isn't going to come out and carve us up?"

Larry touched his temple, more frustration building inside him. "_Christ_, Tanya."

"Please!"

"Fine!" he shouted back. Taking a deep breath, he regained control of himself. "Sorry. Just stay where you are and I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Thank you!"

Hanging up the phone, Larry released a deep, guttural sigh. He dressed quickly, putting on the clothes he had shed on his bedroom floor the night before. He grabbed his keys from the coffee table, and facing the door, steeled himself for what he was about to do.

_I dreamt I would be running down the street when_ it_ happened. Well, I'm not. I'm going to walk to my car, get inside, and drive as fast as I can to get Tanya. In, and out. Just like that._ Larry took a deep breath and opened the door. There was nothing to be afraid of.

The sky was a dark reddish violet, and the air was cool. His old bomber jacket from the Army supply store was good on evenings like this. Larry locked the door behind him and hurried down the steps to his car, slamming the door to his old T-Bird. He put the key in the ignition and turned it, but the engine made no sound.

_What the hell_? Larry tried again and again, but the car wouldn't start. His body was tense and alert with fear. Someone had tampered with the vehicle to hinder his movement. The moment he realized this he jumped out of the car to run back into the house, but a man was waiting for him, blocking the front door with his large body. Eyes widening with the horror of the situation, he turned on his heel and ran. Two more men exited cars from behind him in perfect synchronicity and were in pursuit of their target.

Larry ran for his life, but he didn't make it as far as the end of the street. A white van tore around the corner from the adjacent neighborhood and cut him off before he could make it to the corner. The tires screeched as the van almost clipped the frightened teenager. There was only one path left available for Larry and he took it, his instinct for self-preservation overpowering the knowledge that it was futile. He turned into the alley, the black-suited men from the van on his heels.

"Oh God…oh God…" Larry was breathless. The back end of a brick building, as dead an end as there ever was, looked back at him and seemed to laugh at his plight.

"Lawrence Trask," said one of the black-clad men in a cold, indifferent voice. "You are to come with us."

Larry could feel the world close in with each step the goons took towards him. _No exit, no escape. Fade to black, man_. "No!"

Then, as if someone from above was waiting for that precise cue, canisters were dropped from the sky. The men's heads shot up and guns were withdrawn from inside their jackets, but it did them no good. Dark smoke filled the alley within seconds and the men were robbed of their sight. Larry coughed and sputtered, and then winced at the sound of a man's head hitting the harsh pavement. He could hear other strange noises, like an arrow piercing a melon or a person getting kicked in the throat. Squinting, he could see nothing. The smoke would make a good cover for his escape, but when he couldn't see his hand in front of his face he didn't know where to move.

But whatever was happening, Larry, the target in this unseen fight, had not been forgotten. The smoke started to clear, and the last remaining goon seized Larry, pointing the barrel of the gun at his temple. His breath caught in his throat, Larry dared not move.

"Drop your weapon and show yourself, or I kill him!" The man spat the words venomously, and Larry, frozen with fright, knew he was not bluffing.

But what he saw next was like something out of a dream. A woman emerged from what was left of the smoke, covered from head to toe in white. A long cloak fell from her shoulders, and her face was completely hidden by a gold mask. In her hand she held a crossbow. She did not put it down; rather, she aimed it directly at the heart of Larry's attacker.

"I suggest _you_ put your weapon down. I can fire this before you pull the trigger. Move and the arrow will still be lodged in your heart."

The man turned the gun and fired. The silencer made the blast sound like a muffled sneeze as the bullet cut through the air, but the woman had already darted out of its path. Larry felt the man's solid grip on his arm go limp as he collapsed. Larry gasped; he saw the arrow in the man's chest and realized that he had pulled the trigger as a reflex, for just as the woman predicted, she could fire before he could.

Stunned, Larry looked up at his bizarre rescuer. She had been waiting on the railing of the fire escape above the alley for Larry and his pursuers to come into her trap, and she had been the one to drop the smoke canisters and kill the men.

"Lawrence Trask." Despite her appearance and actions, she did not sound threatening. If only he could see her face under that mask…

Larry swallowed hard. Recovering from the shock of having a gun pointed at his head, he said the first thing that rolled off his tongue. "Yes?"

"Sleep."

Her hand was faster than his eye, and she pierced his neck with a sharp point on her gloved index finger. A drug worked its way through Larry's veins, putting him into a state of deep unconsciousness almost instantly. She was surprisingly strong despite her slim frame, and caught him as his legs gave way.

Destiny gazed down at her sleeping target. The battle over and the prize won, she thought with a smile, _I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Lawrence Trask. I've seen so much about you._

_

* * *

_**A/N: **Destiny's costume and choice of weapon are straight from the comics. They were too good to change—you just don't see that many crossbow-wielding mutants these days. But what in the world could she want with another precognitive mutant? Hmmm…Oh yes, and the John Wraith seen here is based on his Ultimate X-Men incarnation, and _his_ intentions are something else altogether.

Thanks for reading, everyone! Sandoz


	5. Awakenings

**Chapter 4: Awakenings**

His dreams were filled with fire and screams, pyramids and costumed men, and the dreams were red, always red. Something far away was on the verge of being awakened, something evil, and it must be stopped, as futile as those efforts would ultimately be. There was a girl at the center of it all, and if he could concentrate, if he could focus this lucid nightmare, then he would see her clearly and know _why_ she was so terribly important.

Larry Trask awoke with a pounding headache. It was like the brutal hangover he had suffered two summers earlier in Georgetown after being coaxed into a few too many vodka shots by his then friend, Jerry. It was the first and only time he had ever gotten drunk.

"Th…the room's spinnin'…" he murmured, not sure if he was talking or thinking.

His eyesight came into focus, and he found himself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. His other senses returned slowly; he was laying on a couch with a blanket thrown over him, and a television was blaring. A female newscaster's voice buzzed in his ear.

"_In_ _our top story, the mutant situation has_…"

"Where am I?!" Larry sat up, the memories of his assault coming back to him with the force of a sledgehammer.

"You're in my home," said a voice not far away. Larry looked over the couch to see a woman standing in the doorway. Her brown hair was cropped short in a boyish style, and sunglasses hid her eyes. She had traded her white costume for a casual blouse and jeans, but Larry knew who she was immediately.

"Destiny," he whispered.

"You know who I am?" She inquired, not sounding surprised. Was she testing him?

"Yeah…" Larry murmured, his temple still pounding. He felt a most peculiar sense of déjà vu, like this had already happened. In his dreams, it did. "You're Irene Adler. Destiny. And right now we are going to have a long talk." His head still spun. _How did I know that_?

She smirked. "You're good."

"Who were those men? Why did they come after me?"

"They were sent by a man named John Wraith, a colonel who served in the Gulf War and is currently the head of a secret government organization known as AEGIS. He worked with your father." She strode across the room to sit in a chair facing the couch.

"Dad!" Larry exclaimed. Irene had sounded an alarm in his brain. "Something's happened to him."

"Quite right, of course," she replied in that even, unsurprised tone of hers. "A lot has happened in the 22 hours you were asleep."

Before the shock of that last bit of information could sink in, Irene picked up a remote control from the coffee table and turned up the television's volume.

"…The President of the United States issued a full pardon for the mutants identifying themselves as the 'X-Men' and the 'Brotherhood of Mutants' after their heroic acts against the super-strong criminal known as the Juggernaut. The impassioned speech given by mutants Ororo Munroe and Dr. Henry McCoy before Congress is also believed to have influenced the President's decision…"

Larry's eyes widened at the various clips that played on screen—an intense battle atop a dam that would put a summer blockbuster to shame, a furry blue man in a designer suit speaking before the United States Congress—it was too much to take in so quickly.

Then there was a sound bite from President McKenna's national address: "I can assure you that the real culprit behind the Sentinel attack that endangered our citizens has been caught…"

"Oh no." Larry's eyes were wide, horrorstruck.

There, on the evening news for the entire world to see, was Bolivar Trask. Arms handcuffed behind his back, he was pushed into the back of an armored car by two policemen. Trask did not try to hide his face or lower his head; he looked directly at the shaky camera, his gaze steely and unrepentant.

"No," Larry repeated, refusing to believe what he was seeing. "No, no, no…"

The newswoman resumed her spiel. "Bolivar Trask, a former anthropologist, was apprehended yesterday after evidence found in the underground lair in Bayville connected him to the giant robot known as the Sentinel. He confessed to creating the deadly weapon, and has been incarcerated--"

"No!" Larry jumped to his feet, almost knocking over the table. "This can't be happening!"

"It can, and it is," Irene said flatly. "Please calm down."

"Dad…" Larry murmured weakly. Then his head snapped up. "Tanya! Oh my God, Tanya's gotta be worried sick--!"

The young man was half-crazed. Far too much was happening for him to think straight, and before Irene could stand Larry had bolted across the room and down the hall, throwing open the front door as if his sister, and his previous life, would be waiting for him on the other side.

But Larry wasn't just in another house; he was in another town, another state. He was immediately assaulted with heat and humidity instead of Summerduck's cool breezes, and the modest one-floor homes that made up Irene's neighborhood were certainly not the affluent townhouses he had grown accustomed to in the previous months.

"You're in Caldecott, Mississippi," Irene informed him from inside the house. Larry just stared at the unfamiliar street, feeling as though the wind had been knocked out of him, as if nothing would ever be right or sane again…

"You said I was out for 22 hours…"

"Yes. It was necessary for me to take you to a safe place."

Larry turned sharply. "I remember it now! You drugged me!"

"It was imperative that I remove you from the area as quickly and quietly as possible. It would only be possible if you were unconscious. My organization's connections allowed for us to travel by air without any questions being asked."

"And what's to stop those guys from grabbing my sister?! They already got Dad!" Oh, if only she could see the outrage on his face.

Irene took his arm, and he let her draw him back inside and into the den. "You misunderstand, my boy. It was you, specifically you, they were told to abduct. And while they worked with Bolivar Trask they did not order his capture. He was abandoned and offered as a sacrificial lamb to the public, to keep them from digging too deep into why the Sentinel was created and who funded the project."

Irene removed her glasses to rub her eyelids. Her eyes were white and milky. "Your involvement in all of this was an unfortunate quirk of fate."

"Okay." Larry took a deep breath, swallowing hard. "They didn't go after me because of what my father did. So why _did_ they?"

"I believe you already know the answer to that, Lawrence Trask."

"No!" he snarled and turned his back, suddenly sick of her cryptic bullshit and not wanting to look at her anymore. Nevertheless, she was right, and Larry could feel the words lingering on his lips. He couldn't say them aloud because he knew if he did they would come true, and could never be taken back.

"I'm a mutant, aren't I?" he whispered, the words weighing heavily on his young shoulders. "But what does that _mean_?"

"It means that you, like many others all over the globe, are a carrier of the X-Gene. You are _homo superior_, the next wave of human evolution, and there is a power within your body unlike any possessed by _homo__ sapiens_."

"And my power is—I can see things before they happen?"

Irene nodded. "You dream of the future."

He shook his head back and forth, tortured by the terrible knowledge. "Why is this happening to me now? I mean, a week ago I couldn't guess what song was about to play on the radio, and now I have visions of my best friend getting hit by a car!"

"Some mutations are present at birth. Others emerge at puberty, or are triggered by a traumatic event. Your power, Lawrence, is like a light behind a door in your mind. Before, the door was only an inch open. Only a little light could enter. But once you were confronted with the Sentinel on TV—saw that the impossible was real, that the dream had come true—the shock knocked open the door fully."

"_Then close the door_!"

"That," Destiny said simply, "is impossible."

"Then why did you help me?!"

Larry turned away from her again, bracing himself against the back of the couch and digging his fingers into the cushioned edges. Furrowing his brow, Larry was surprised to feel Irene's hand on his shoulder. The gentle pressure was meant to reassure him, and it was the first compassionate gesture she had made toward him.

"I helped you because I understand what you're going through, more than any other mutant. I, too, can see the future."

"Yes…That's right." Larry raised his head and looked at her, knowing, without needing to be told, why she bore the name Destiny.

"Most mutants have unique powers. Perhaps you'll see two that have the same color fur or come across a handful of telepaths, but it is rare for two mutants such as you and me to coexist."

"So how did you escape? Does the government go around hunting mutants? Is that why no one's heard of them before now?"

Irene smiled as if his innocent questions amused her. "No, it's not a regular occurrence for mutants to be hunted down like animals. Our numbers are still small, though, from what I've heard, more are being born every generation. Many choose to hide their powers, not understanding what they are. Others make their presence known. I am not surprised to find that the government is aware of us and has kept our existence a secret from the public."

"So, again: _why me_?"

"Think about it, Lawrence. The future is yours to witness! There are many humans who would want to take that knowledge from you."

"Oh my God." Larry started to laugh; it was either that or start screaming. "I never asked for this."

"It will get better, I promise you," Irene said softly. "You will stay here, and I will guide you, help you gain clarity. For now, you should rest. Your head is hurting, is that not correct?"

"Yeah," he replied wearily. _Why the hell are _you_ even asking_?

She nodded her head towards the couch Larry had woken up on, and the blanket thrown across it. "I'll get you some aspirin."

Irene headed for the kitchen to retrieve the medicine, but Larry's voice stopped her.

He whispered, "Thank you. But…please…don't call me Lawrence. It's Larry."

Nodding silently she left, leaving him alone to think.

---

It took Irene several minutes to fetch the aspirin for her young houseguest, and when she returned he was standing up and holding in his hand a picture taken from a tabletop; in it Irene was being embraced by a teenage girl in a green dress, her auburn hair streaked with white. She was very pretty and familiar.

"Is she your daughter?" he asked.

Irene could guess what he was looking at. "Not exactly. I raised her like I would my own after a close friend could no longer care for her."

"Uncle" Robert Chalmers briefly came to mind. Another dear person whose face he probably would never see again. He tried to focus on the picture. "I know she was one of the mutants." It would be a while before he'd have the nerve to say "_one of us_."

She chuckled. "My own little Rogue."

_Rogue._ The word was more than a nickname; for Larry it carried an extra importance, though the feeling was strange and he did not know what to make of it. He dismissed that thought, concentrating on something else.

_Irene did say there were few mutants in the world…I guess it makes sense that she'd be related to one on the news_. "So are you one of them? The X-Men, I mean."

Irene slipped the bottle of aspirin into his hand, and he put down the photograph. "No."

Well, that was a simple enough answer. But there was more he wanted to know.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to sound _insensitive_ or anything…but how were you able to _do_ all that when you saved me? Unless, you're not really…"

Again, she wore that amused smile. She even laughed. "Oh, I am _quite_ blind." She tapped her temple. "_However_, as useless as my _eyes_ may be, I can still 'see' with my mind thanks to my mutant gift. With it I can mentally scan the probability spectrum and distinguish the sights and sounds around me. Thus, I was able to fight off your attackers."

Larry shuddered; he felt a fresh wave of anxiety rush over him, like any moment the world as he knew it, the reality that was now a lie, would fully cave in and crush him. "I feel like an _idiot_, asking all these questions…if I can see the future, why is this all so _unknown_ and _scary_ to me?"

"Your mutant power's just emerging. Give it time and more things will become clear. I will teach you how to master your gift…would you like to start now?"

Larry lifted his head and gazed into the dark reflection that stared back in Irene's sunglasses.

"Yeah, I would."

---

As Larry had told Jessica only a few days earlier, he didn't believe in fortune telling. He had nothing but laughs and a shake of the head for phone psychics, palm readers, and those aging hippies who would throw tea leaves at him whenever he walked by their shops. It wasn't hard to imagine Tanya smirking and making a cutting remark about how silly he looked sitting on a basement floor with his legs tucked under him, listening for words of sage advice from a woman who claimed to see the future.

_Hey, big brother, what's so funny about tarot cards now?_

An image flickered in his mind's eye, and then was gone: _The Wheel of Fortune_.

"Concentrate." Destiny's voice was sharp as a blade, and Larry rightly paid attention. "What have you seen?"

"The Sentinel attacking…and, I think, my father activating it."

"What else?"

"I saw my friend Cal hit by a car right in front of me."

"And after that?"

"My attack in the alleyway."

"After that?"

"I was talking with you about my powers."

Irene nodded once. "These things have all come true?"

"Yes." Larry opened his eyes slowly. His eyelids felt heavy; recalling the images from his dreams was harder than it seemed.

Irene began to talk, and her words were surprisingly soothing. "Think of time as a tapestry that is unfinished. Think of each individual stitch as a different person or possibility. It takes a certain pattern and alignment of thread for the tapestry to take shape, and for the design to become clear. I see the future in terms of the _possibilities_, what _may_ be, not necessarily what _will_ be. Maybe it is the same for you, but from what I have seen in _my_ visions, you have the potential to see the greater design."

"Then…everything I see in my visions…will come true?" Larry swallowed a lump in his throat. _Everything_?

"We shall see."

"You…" Larry changed the subject slightly, "Had visions about _me,_ specifically?"

Irene's expression did not change. "I saw a young mutant in need of rescue, one very much like myself. I also saw that I would save him. He was, of course, you."

"So that night, before my power manifested, you were in front of my house…waiting."

Larry took in a slow, deliberate breath. "I remember my first dream, about the Sentinel. It looked like it was going to attack me. But in reality it attacked the X-Men and the Brotherhood. My father made it…to attack mutants?"

Irene felt a small tinge of regret. Naturally their conversations were building up to that precise question, but she wished she could afford to spare the troubled young mutant any more suffering.

"Yes. The Sentinel's purpose was to find, capture, and exterminate mutants."

_Exterminate_! The word, and all its implications about Bolivar Trask, struck Larry like a blow to the face. To say that Larry was shocked to hear this about his father's work would be underestimating a boy who, sadly, was becoming used to bad shocks.

"My father created it."

_This is my most important project yet, Lawrence. I won't pretend I don't know how difficult these last few years have been for you and your sister, but soon you will understand everything. I've done everything for you, you know that._

"My father created it," Larry repeated. His eyes were distant, as if he was looking for something he had lost. It came and disappeared.

Irene reached forward and cupped the young man's chin in her hand, drawing his attention back to her.

"Let's continue."

---

Larry entered the room and immediately felt like an intruder. In Irene's small house the only available bed belonged to her absent foster daughter, so it was decided for him that he would sleep in her bedroom.

Hours had passed, with the sun eventually setting in the horizon. His first lesson was long over. He stood in the dark doorway, examining his new surroundings. The girl's room had obviously been untouched since her abrupt departure several months earlier, as clothes remained scattered on the carpet or hanging out of open dresser drawers. The walls were plastered with posters of various Goth rock gods, their pale faces staring back at Larry with looks of detached depression. Closing the door and taking a deep breath, Larry could smell the lingering scent of the girl's incense as he undressed.

Larry was annoyed with his own embarrassment. He did not make a habit of spending nights in girls' beds, and the room still felt so _lived_ in that he could mentally picture Irene's daughter walking in at any moment, and getting a big shock.

_Who's that sleeping in my bed_? The storybook line popped in his head suddenly, further causing his cheeks to burn red. His sister was right. He was a just a big dork, after all. Certainly not the Big Bad Wolf.

The bed was partially hidden by a black fishnet curtain that was draped over three sides. Crawling inside it was a bit problematic. He rolled onto his stomach and pressed his face against the pillow, trying to block out the outside world.

Despite his personal insecurities, he had to admit that sleeping in the room of another mutant, in another mutant's house, made him feel connected to them. Grounded, even. For once, it didn't feel like he belonged in another world, that the events of the past few days weren't part of some fantastic movie with him cast as the unwilling star. Maybe things weren't so completely crazy after all.

He lay there, almost afraid to sleep, and pieces of the future as witnessed in his dreams floated to the surface of his waking mind. He actually wished he could recall more about them, and silence the nagging voice in his head that told him this was important and worth remembering.

_Pyramids…an awakening…and the girl is the key._

"Rogue," he whispered, pondering the significance of the name, not knowing he would see its owner soon.

* * *

**A/N: **Okay, glad to get some of the exposition out of the way. For anyone possibly interested in seeing Larry in the comics, he made an appearance in the recent "What If…Magneto and Professor X Had Formed the X-Men Together?" special. It's worth checking out, if only for seeing Kitty dressed up like a punk schoolgirl.

Thanks for reading! --Sandoz


	6. Meanwhile

**Chapter 5: Meanwhile…**

In Summerduck, Tanya sat on the edge of her brother's bed, one of his pillows clutched to her chest. Her head hanging low, she cast a sorrowful glance at the room spread before her. As picky as Larry could be about the state of the house, his own room was suitably messy and cluttered for an eighteen-year-old boy: discarded clothing on the floor, posters for _The Exorcist_ and The Stone Ciphers taped on the wall at odd angles, the desk with the stack of textbooks, various Post-It notes, and the laptop that hadn't been turned off yet. An unfinished World Literature paper was on screen, and when Tanya had made a move earlier to shut down the machine she had found she didn't have the heart to click the little red x at the top of the screen. She decided she'd let Larry turn it off himself when he came home.

_When he comes home_…

Tanya wiped her eyes. She hated tears, and the grief and vulnerability that came with them. _Damn it. Damn everything_.

There was a distant sound, someone knocking on the front door. Jumping up, Tanya peeked through the shades. The sky was dark and hazy, but she could see that there were no white vans or huddles of people outside. All the vultures that had been pecking at her door during the day were finally gone, and the single black SAAB parked in the street told her immediately who wanted to be let in. Tanya had locked herself inside, not even going to school, not wanting to have to face the reporters waiting in droves on her front lawn. The one time she had answered their pestering, it had been…unpleasant.

Abandoning the pillow that had given her some small comfort, Tanya left Larry's bedroom and marched down the stairs, not so much as paying a single glance at her father's closed door.

Once on the first floor, Tanya pulled back the chain lock and opened the door a crack, glaring at the person outside with bleary, bloodshot eyes. Her hands shook ever so slightly.

"You were on the evening news," Robert Chalmers said with a cross expression, pushing the door open and slamming it shut behind him. The harsh noise made the girl flinch.

Tanya ignored him. "Where is my brother?"

Chalmers shook his head, folding his arms over his chest. "You know, Tanya, these last few days have been difficult for _both_ of us. But you would make this situation so much better—not for you and me, but for _Larry_ as well—if you wouldn't make a scene in front of the _mass media_!"

"Oh, please! You weren't here—you didn't hear the things they said! How can you blame me for what I did?"

"Tanya, _you threw your shoe_ at them!"

"And it made them leave!" she protested.

"You'll be lucky if that cameraman doesn't _sue_ you, young lady." Chalmers frowned.

"They asked if Larry was—if he was involved with that…_psycho_!" She spit the last word out, no longer able to refer to the "psycho" in question as "Dad".

Chalmers replied in a gentler tone, "I know. With everything that's happened to your father…I'm having a hard time convincing the authorities that Larry wasn't involved in Bolivar's work and that he was kidnapped. The _timing_ of all this is just so…" He furrowed his brow. "Forget a boy who is missing and may be hurt, everyone just wants to report on those damn mutants and that _robot_…!"

"Oh God…Larry didn't know…_neither_ of us knew he was making a _murder machine_ under Bayville! Now Larry's been taken by someone…or kil-" She choked, unable to say it. "It's been _days_! He needs help…and no one cares!"

Chalmers took a long, hard look at the fourteen-year-old girl standing in front of him and trying to hide her tears. Pale and disheveled, Tanya looked nothing like her usual vibrant self. Grief had hit her hard. _And why wouldn't it?_ Chalmers thought. _She's lost her father and her brother within a matter of days. If only _I _could grieve. If only I could feel anything other than…guilt._

Mr. Chalmers put his arms around the girl he had come to see as a niece, or a surrogate daughter. Words failed him at that painful moment.

"I could have waited!" Tanya wailed suddenly, pressing her face against his shoulder. "I begged him to pick us up…I could have waited for Jessica's mom to do it. I could have waited!"

"Tanya, don't you dare blame yourself for this," he told her sternly.

"Someone tampered with his car. Mrs. Kramer across the street heard tires screeching around the time Larry left. She looked out the window—saw smoke in that alley. Do they think this is some kid's prank? _Do they_? _Larry needs help_!"

"I know, I know."

Tanya pushed him away and began to pace in the living room. Her hands were shaking. _Is this what a nervous breakdown feels like?_ she wondered.

"That _psycho_ I have for a father is in jail, Larry's been kidnapped…It's like everything is out of control, crazy…what's happened to this family?"

If Chalmers had any answers, he kept them to himself.

-

In Area 51, Col. Wraith's mood had not improved. Stopping the rampaging Juggernaut from destroying the dam had turned the muties from public enemies to national heroes, and President McKenna had pardoned them fully. Trask was behind bars where he could be monitored or summoned if needed, and that was really the only thing that had gone according to plan. Trask's mutie spawn was still on the loose, and his escape had been one of the most embarrassing spectacles Wraith had ever been forced to take responsibility for. If the backup "cleanup crew" hadn't immediately arrived on the scene and removed the dead men, there would have been a media blitz with staggering consequences.

"Lawrence Trask was of course the killer," explained one of the forensic men that had examined the scene during the formal briefing. "His mutant ability has been reported to be clairvoyance, and he must have seen the attack in his mind and thus knew what to do in order to escape. He employed smoke canisters to take the men by surprise and then killed them with an Excalibur Point Blanc crossbow. He then made his escape, presumably in an unknown vehicle."

"A crossbow?" Wraith asked incredulously. "He killed my men with a frigging _crossbow_?"

"Yes, sir, though according to the records we uncovered, Lawrence Trask has had no formal training with that weapon, and there are no records of him purchasing it."

Wraith leaned forward, elbows on the black marble table, fingers locked in front of his face. He eyed the subordinates sitting opposite him and rasped, "This was supposed to be easy. Do you have any frigging idea how badly this could have exploded if our plan was exposed? The President of the United States practically kisses Charles Xavier's bald head and we get caught trying to swipe a mutie kid? I'm not talking hate crime bullshit here, you all understand, but a real honest-to-frigging-god catastrophe. Now who here wants to explain to me why no one expected a mutie to fight back?"

A bearded lieutenant cleared his throat for permission to speak. At Wraith's nod he gave his opinion on the matter. "With all due respect, Colonel, retaliation from Lawrence Trask was not something our men could not have expected. His phone call with his father was analyzed, and it was ruled that his mutant power, given how it was not offensive in nature, could not pose a threat to our operatives. And in the possibility that he _did_ foresee our actions, he seemed too confused about his visions to make proper sense of them."

"Well, golly, Higgins, I'm sorry for yelling!" Wraith's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Do not make the same mistakes with this mutie freak again, or it won't be an unexpected attack from him you'll have to worry about! Understand me?"

-

In a small, temporary prison cell aboard one of the SHIELD organization's "flying fortresses," Bolivar Trask had given up pacing in favor of saving his energy for the interrogation he was to receive after landing. It was a cramped, tiny space, slightly bigger than a matchbox, with four reinforced steel walls and a small cot and a toilet; Trask imagined that lesser men would crack in SHIELD's capable hands.

Trask knew he was being monitored. SHIELD did not even try to hide the camera suspended from the high ceiling, but the prisoner was not giving them the pleasure of seeing him break down or tremble. Trask's face was stony, unreadable. He did a remarkable job of hiding the tempest of emotions raging inside of him.

Trask did show a faint glimmer of surprise, however, when the door to his cell unexpectedly opened. By his mental calculations, the flying fortress was not scheduled to reach its destination for another three hours. Three black-clad, armed guards signaled him to leave the cell and follow them.

_Typical SHIELD overkill,_ Trask thought with disdain as his gaze fell on the automatic weapons his escorts carried. He was unarmed, and lacked the training of a soldier or a mutant's ungodly powers, so how the SHIELD superiors thought he would get past one armed guard and escape the heavily armed, maximum-security aircraft escaped him. He certainly didn't have a Sentinel hidden up his sleeve.

Colonel Michael Rossi waited for Trask in a debriefing room, and curtly told him to sit down. Trask hesitated for a microsecond, and felt the heavy hands of one of his escorts on his shoulders, pushing him into a seat. He glared at Rossi, who remained unfazed.

"How are we tonight, Bolivar?" Rossi asked with fake friendliness.

"I want to speak to my children," Trask stated firmly. His eyes remained fixed on the dark-haired colonel in front of him.

"You're forgetting where you are," said Rossi with a tight-lipped smile. "You're in SHIELD's hands now, Trask, and you don't get your one phone call."

"Then understand this," Trask replied, tone unchanging, "Without me, they have no caregiver. Their mother is dead. If you will not grant me my right to speak to them, I expect you to make efforts to see they are looked after."

Rossi's expression darkened. He had personal reasons for disliking Bolivar Trask, reasons that had nothing to do with a rampaging Sentinel or a crusade against _Homo superior_, and it irritated him severely that Trask thought he could make demands, even now. He had hoped to see him squirm.

"That's just it," Rossi said. "One of your children is missing."

There was a sharp, almost inaudible intake of breath from Trask. His eyes widened, and then narrowed. "What did you say?"

"Your son Lawrence was reported missing by Robert Chalmers four nights ago. He was supposed to pick his sister up from a local library, but never showed up. His car was still parked in front of his home, but there was no sign of him."

Trask said nothing.

_Lawrence_

"You wouldn't know anything about this, would you?"

Trask stiffened. "You're actually implying I hurt my son." It was not a question.

"No, no…of course not. But we do have reason to believe this wasn't the usual random act of violence or a teenage runaway case. Excellent timing, isn't it? You botch the Sentinel Project, and your son disappears. Your former employers may have had a hand in this. They play dirty, isn't that right?"

Trask said nothing. He thought of Wraith, he thought of his son, and he thought of wrapping his hands around Rossi's throat.

"I have no information to give you, Rossi," Trask spat. "Lawrence was not involved with the Sentinel Project. He didn't have anything to do with it. He's a _child_."

Rossi leaned forward, resting his elbows on the cold marble table. "Do you think that matters?"

The colonel gestured to one of the armed guards, and then dismissed Trask with a flippant wave of his hand. "That's all. We thought it would be…_polite_ to inform our guest of honor of his family problem. Better you hear it from us than someone else, right?" He grinned at Trask, but then scowled just as quickly. The silently fuming prisoner was led out.

"Don't play games with that man, Mike," a computerized voice said once Trask was gone and the door was shut. Rossi pressed a small blue button on a panel on the tabletop, and spoke into it.

"What can I say, Nick? I want that bastard to fry."

"Don't get sloppy. Bolivar Trask is still dangerous, Sentinel at his beck-and-call or no. His missing kid just complicates things."

Rossi rubbed his eyelids. "You'll have a hard time convincing me Trask Junior is as innocent as his dad claims."

Nick Fury paused a moment on the other line. "Even though he's a mutant?"

Rossi gasped. "A _mutant_? That's some luck, eh? I wonder if that stony bastard would have cracked if I told him _that._"

"It's not a laughing matter. Our contact has informed us of the situation. If John Wraith and AEGIS are behind this, we've got trouble."

"What?" Rossi chuckled. "Don't tell me you think Wraith abducted the kid as payback for Trask screwing up and letting their precious prototype run amok in Bayville. It was probably a contractual obligation. Trask's mutie kid has an unfortunate accident, the Sentinel goes online."

Fury's patience was at an end. "Think whatever you want. There is something bigger at work here, that much I'm certain of. I'm willing to take a bet that Trask doesn't know about his son's recent…changes. You are not to tell him. Involving him any further in your personal vendetta will cost you. Fury out."

-

In Caldecott, Irene Adler sat awake in bed, a leather-bound book in her lap. Her eyes were focused on the blank sheets of paper as though she could truly see them, and her pen darted across the page.

She began to plot her next course of action.

-

In the same one-floor house, Larry was transfixed by the sight of his own blood. His hand had slipped while emptying the dishwasher and his palm had grazed the blade of a clean kitchen knife. Tiny crimson droplets fell on the white surface of the open dishwasher, staining it.

Larry didn't register the pain in his hand, though it was as sharp as the knife that had caused it. The blood, and the brief, startling shock, had acted as a trigger in his mutant brain, and Larry was suddenly _not there_. Mentally, he was no longer in the cramped kitchen, lingering over a knife and his injured hand.

_"Destiny has dealt its hand. Do not interfere!"_

_ Inside a temple hidden in the cliffs of Tibet, a ferocious battle takes place. Blows are dealt, pain is felt. Blood is shed. But in the end, everything lays in the hands of a single person—a rogue. _

_ And one of her powerful hands is grabbed by the mummy, the living corpse. The rogue screams, helpless. She is a pawn, a victim, but above all else, the conduit through which he gains his power, and through her he rises. _

_ Apocalypse rises. _

Larry returned to the present slowly, shaking. It was the pain that awakened him fully; the blood from the slash had dripped down his fingers, creating a small red pool on the floor.

The nightmares had invaded the waking world.

"God…help me…" he whispered plaintively, before crumpling to the floor on his knees.

-

In Bayville, inside a chamber hidden below the surface of the earth, the device known as Cerebro detected and logged the mutant signature of Lawrence Trask.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** And there's part the fifth, showing what everyone else has been up to the last few days. Glad to write Tanya again. She's fun. (And yes, she's important too.) Next chapter: Guess who's in town? Yes, it's the chapter in this X-Men fic where the X-Men actually show up! (Gasp!) What will Rogue have to say about her foster mother's new houseguest?

Thanks for reading, all! Sandoz


	7. Knocking on Destiny's Door

**Chapter 6: Knocking on Destiny's Door**

Rogue knew it was going to be a bad day from the moment she woke up. She heard the shrill ringing of the alarm clock on her nightstand and let out a groan, turning over on her side. It was one of those mornings where the bed was so comfortable, where the feather-stuffed pillows supported the head in just the right way, that getting up and out seemed like madness.

"Five more…min'tes…" Rogue murmured to no one. If her chipper roommate weren't such a morning person, she might have gotten her wish. Kitty was up in an instant, moving and shuffling around the room as she got dressed. It was her way of telling Rogue "get up" without poking her and risking her early morning wrath.

Kitty has slipped out of the room by the time Rogue finally dragged herself out of the warm, inviting bed. She dressed in no particular hurry, and picked up her pace only when her stomach began to growl and demand breakfast.

The mansion was being rebuilt in record time, and all the students had moved out of the underground bunkers to their usual living quarters. Fortunately the kitchen and the dining hall were also among the first rooms being completed. Stepping past a few construction workers and not paying them a second glance, Rogue entered the crowded kitchen.

"Hey, Rogue," greeted Kurt as she took the empty seat next to him at the table. He sounded tired.

Rogue nodded her head in return, still tired herself, and turned her attention to the television mounted from the ceiling as a basket of muffins was being passed around the table. Roberto and Amara entered the kitchen in the middle of a dispute, and almost drowned out the TV with their voices.

"For the last time, I _didn't_ use your shampoo," insisted Roberto, annoyed with her persistence.

"You better not have," Amara warned, raising her chin in disdain. "I had that specially sent from Brazil, and…"

Rogue made the decision to ignore them. Her eyes fell on Scott and Jean across the room, both of whom were sipping from cups of hot coffee and completely wrapped in each other. The pair had clearly grown closer after the harsh return to Bayville High, and with the loss of their human friends they were almost inseparable. Rogue took notice of the smile on Scott's lips as he talked with Jean, and her heart sank a little.

Without warning the omnipresent voice of Professor Xavier was heard throughout the kitchen. The sudden sound of his mental command made Rogue choke back her orange juice in surprise.

Scott, Jean, please join me in my study at once.

Scott's head perked up. "Wonder what this is about," he murmured.

Jean shrugged in reply, grabbing him by the sleeve of his jacket with a tiny smile and leading him out of their crowded surroundings.

Rogue, please come as well. The professor added the order almost as an afterthought.

Rogue's eyes widened.

"Busted!" Ray grinned from across the table.

"For _what_?" asked Rogue snappily, rising from her seat and abandoning her breakfast. She was out the door and on Scott and Jean's heels before he could reply.

_Guess it's gonna be one of those mornings_, Rogue thought, letting out a sigh.

* * *

_Okay, this is a little weird_.

Rogue tapped her forefinger on the arm of the couch inside Xavier's study, watching him curiously. The Professor seemed tense; his voice was calm but his brow was furrowed, wrinkled in deep thought. Besides Scott, Jean, and herself, only Logan was privy to this sudden meeting; the other three seemed to be as clueless about the reason for it as Rogue was.

"With the calamitous events in recent weeks, it is unsurprising that I have been unable to keep up with my duties in tracking new mutant signatures with Cerebro," said Xavier. "My neglect may have terrible consequences, however. An hour ago I made a startling discovery, and I need all of you to accompany me on a recruitment mission."

"Sure thing, Professor," Scott said with his usual eager smile. Rogue looked down at the floor, trying in vain to ignore his arm as it brushed hers. "We'll get suited up right away."

"Hold on, Scott," Xavier said, cautioning him with an upraised hand. "Before we leave I must tell you why this new mutant is so important."

"Is he dangerous?" inquired Jean.

He shook his head. "No, his power is not offensive in nature. But he may be in danger. His name is Lawrence Trask."

Logan cut Xavier off before he could continue. "_Trask_?"

"As in _Dr._ Trask?" Scott was aghast. "_The creator of the Sentinel_?"

Xavier nodded the affirmative. "Lawrence is his oldest child."

"Oh my god," Jean murmured, covering her mouth with her hand. "Unbelievable."

Rogue said nothing. The name Trask conjured up painful memories—the battle with the Sentinel, the capture in green bakelite, the imprisonment in the glass cell in Area 51…She had never so much as laid eyes on Dr. Bolivar Trask, but she hated him all the same.

"So…if this is a recruitment mission, why am I here?" she asked after a beat. Jean and Scott were the star pupils, after all. She had never been included on a mission like this before.

"You, Rogue, are necessary because you have personal involvement with this case. Lawrence Trask is currently residing in Caldecott Mississippi…with Irene Adler."

A small gasp escaped Rogue's lips. She shook her head, forcefully dismissing the idea. "Irene? But that's!"

"Hold on a moment" Jean suddenly said, raising one of her perfectly manicured fingers to interject. "Who is Irene Adler?"

Xavier released a breath, preparing to answer her. He didn't get the chance.

"She is…_was_…my foster mom," said Rogue, a scowl darkening her pretty face.

* * *

For probably the first time in all her sixteen years, Rogue wished she were in school. She had fought rampaging mutants and even the United States government with nary a scratch or broken bone, so suddenly the jeers and scornful looks from her ignorant classmates did not seem so impossible to endure. In any event, class would be preferable to the confrontation waiting for her when she disembarked the X-Jet.

"How're you doing?" Scott asked, surprising her with the sound of his voice.

"Huh?" Rogue had been lost in thought, and she now faced her teammate with a look of confusion.

Scott moved into the empty seat next to her to allow a private, quiet conversation. He, like Rogue, Jean, and Logan, was dressed in civilian garb. Professor X had decided a more…_casual_ approach to the situation in her hometown would be best. Knocking on Destiny's door dressed for battle was probably a bad idea.

"Well," Scott began, "I was wondering if you were okay with all of this. Your foster mom is harboring the mutant son of a guy who tried to _kill_ us. I know that must be a lot to take in."

Under normal circumstances Rogue would have been touched by Scott's show of concern, but this time the butterflies were absent from her stomach. Instead, it felt like her insides had been filled with rocks.

She said, "Actually…before today, I really didn't know Irene was a mutant."

Scott raised his eyebrows. "Seriously? But…didn't Irene set you up with Mystique in the first place?"

Glancing away from those familiar ruby quartz sunglasses, Rogue put into words the confused thoughts that had been plaguing her mind ever since Xavier called that blasted meeting. "Yeah, she was. But she introduced me to her as _Raven Darkholme_, and Mystique only showed her '_true colors_' once I arrived in Bayville. I thought…maybe…Irene didn't know the truth. I wondered sometimes if Irene _was_ like us and if that was why she knew about mutants to begin with, but at the same time…" Her voice fell. "I didn't want to know."

Scott nodded his head in understanding. _It isn't exactly pleasant to think someone you love may be an ally of your enemy_. But rather than saying that and possibly troubling her more, he put a supportive hand on his teammate's shoulder.

"I'm not sure precisely what's waiting for us when we land, but remember Rogue, the X-Men will always be here for you."

_And you'll always be an overgrown Boy Scout_, Rogue thought, silently wishing she could be angry at him, or resent him for his kindness. But she could not. Not him.

"We'll be landing in about fifteen minutes." Jean's measured voice sounded throughout the X-Jet's interior on the intercom, as if she had been mentally eavesdropping and knew the right moment to interrupt.

"All right." Scott smiled wryly, changing the subject. "Let's see who this Lawrence Trask _is_."

* * *

"It's getting _worse_," Larry moaned. "I'm having more visions when I'm awake…I lose myself, where I am, what I'm doing, and some of the things I _saw_…" 

Irene pressed her palm against his warm forehead, like a mother measuring a child's temperature. They sat in her parlor directly facing each other, as in all of their other "sessions." Larry thought she might be trying to sense something. Her skin was cool, and she pulled her hand away.

"You've been having repeated visions of Egypt and Tibet." Not a question.

Larry nodded once, swallowing a heavy lump in his throat. One word, one _name_, had especially been echoing in his brain for days.

_Rogue._

_ Rogue._

_Rogue_.

"I don't know what to make of it all…but it's something important. Something terrible is going to happen, I can _feel_ it. But why can't I _understand_ it?"

Irene studied his face, noting his pained expression. Larry was pale, with his hair disheveled and dark circles developing under his eyes. Her aspirin wasn't helping his headaches anymore. It wasn't the weeks locked up in Irene's tiny house that was doing this to him; no, this damage came from internal sources.

"I would imagine that the events in your mind are out of context, out of sequence. It's up to you to put the pieces together, Larry."

"Great." Larry sighed, looking down at his hands. His fingers traced a long scar on his left palm; the result of a knife, the scar served as a reminder of the harm he could do to himself during one of his spells. "This is great. Just when I think I'm starting to get the _hang_ of this…What am I supposed to do? If I see something terrible in the future, do I have to do something to stop it? Would that make any difference?"

"You've thought a lot about this, haven't you?"

Larry's lips formed a twisted grin. "What else is there to think about? My dad who's in jail? My sister who probably thinks I'm dead? The Men in Black who want my head? Yeah, I've had a lot to think about lately."

"Well," Irene said with a smile of her own as she rose from her seat, "I hope you'll be in better spirits when our company comes."

Larry raised his brow. "Company?" Irene did not answer him; she had already fled into the kitchen. He called after her again, disbelieving his own ears. "_Company_?"

* * *

"Are you sure about this, Charles?" Logan asked for the third time. "We're just gonna walk in there and have ourselves a nice cup of tea?" He scoffed, then removed the toothpick from between his teeth and threw it out the open window of the X-Van, which he was driving.

"Yes, my friend," Xavier replied from the navigator's seat. "Cerebro's readings indicated that there are only two mutants in the entire state—Ms. Adler and the boy. There are no traps from Magneto or his ilk waiting for us here, and it is very important that we reach out to the young Mr. Trask. His recruitment could be vital to our cause."

Rogue sat alone in the far back of the van, silent from the moment the X-Jet landed in the private airport just outside of Caldecott. She gazed intently at the small houses and modest businesses the van passed as they drove through her little backwater hometown. From a glance, not much had changed.

Memories best left forgotten returned as the van retraced the path back to her old house. In this town her mutant power had first manifested, leaving a boy in a coma and Rogue scared nearly to death. She remembered running down these streets, terrified, another person's memories surging through her brain. Startling encounters with the X-Men and the nefarious Mystique posing as the X-Men had driven her to the local cemetery, where things had somehow managed to get worse…

_No, it wasn't just the X-Men and Mystique. Irene was there too. Irene. She said…_

"Mutant hunters," she whispered.

"What was that?" asked Jean.

Rogue cringed. _Did I say that out loud_? "Oh, nothing."

But it _was _something. 'Mutant hunters' had been Irene's name for the X-Men, and it was far from the truth for obvious reasons. Had she been lied to by Mystique as well? Or was she a _part_ of the lie? Either way, Rogue planned to find out once and for all.

* * *

Inside Rogue there was a feeling that the X-Men should be preparing for a fight, not standing in front of her old house and ringing the bell like the world's most unusual group of door-to-door salesmen. There was no sound from inside the house at first; indeed, a peculiar stillness seemed to fill the air, and not even the birds overhead were singing. Rogue's gloved finger pressed the doorbell once again.

Then she heard a rustle from behind the door. The word "Irene" was partially off her lips, but she saw the person behind the door was not Irene at all—_Lawrence Trask_, she realized.

Rogue was slightly surprised at how young he was. She had no idea why she did not expect him to be a teenager. He stared back at her in equal surprise, with the eye not obscured by his long, unkempt bangs as wide as a saucer.

"The X-Men…!" Larry whispered, startled. His visions had told him nothing of _them_ making a house call; nevertheless, he recognized them all instantly. There was Scott Summers, wearing his trademark ruby quartz sunglasses; the redhead, Jean Grey; the otherwise unidentified "Wolverine"; wheelchair-bound Professor Charles Xavier; and the girl standing before him, the girl whose photograph in the parlor he had identified, the rightful owner of the bed in which he was sleeping, Irene's daughter, she was…

_Rogue_.

As for Rogue herself, she realized that it was specifically _her_ Larry's eyes were lingering on, not the rest of the motley crew of mutants gathered in front of him. She pulled her head back and parted her lips to ask him _what _his problem was, but she didn't get the chance.

"Lawrence Trask?" Xavier asked, though he knew exactly who he was. "May we come in?"

Larry nodded once, still slightly slack-jawed, and backed out of the way to let the wheelchair pass. _So this is what Irene meant by "company"._

"Irene!" he called, intending to formally announce their sudden visitors. But Irene had already emerged from the kitchen, rubbing her hands together in eagerness.

"Hello, everyone," she greeted with a knowing smile. "You've been expected. I just put a kettle for tea on."

Logan crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes. "Great."

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry for the slow updates, but college is sucking my lifeforce dry. Next chapter, Larry's introduction to the X-Men continues as they discuss his, ahem, future, and Rogue has a few important questions for Destiny…

To answer a few questions posed in reviews:

Steven P. P: Yes, I have plans for Rossi, and it will be explained just why he hates AEGIS and Trask so much…

Bowles: The story is going to jump ahead in time several years, so we'll see what happens beyond Apocalypse. And HYDRA isn't involved; this is strictly SHIELD/ AEGIS business.

Thanks for reading, everyone!


	8. Departure

**Chapter 7: Departure**

Larry Trask had just finished talking about his past, and was now about to discuss his future.

Professor Charles Xavier was amazed at what he had just heard. His cup of tea rested on the coffee table in front of him, cold and untouched. "A government agency abducting mutants…I wish I could say this was the first I've heard of such a thing", he said with a touch of regret.

"What _I_ want to know is how people keep finding me," Larry muttered as he finished his own cup of tea.

Jean spoke up, flashing a warm, million dollar smile at Larry. She reminded him of an overenthusiastic infomercial spokeswoman. "The X-Men have a device called _Cerebro_ that has a sensory array specifically calibrated to the mutant genome. It can detect mutants almost anywhere on the planet."

"However," Xavier interrupted, "As far as I know, the government has no technology that can compare with Cerebro…tell me, Lawrence…"

"Larry."

"_Larry_, did you tell anyone of your visions prior to your attack?"

_/Don't worry, son, I'll be back in Summerduck soon and I'll explain everything to you./_

The memory of his last night in Summerduck returned without warning. Larry covered his face with his hands, letting out a deep sigh. He didn't want to finish that thought. "N…No. No, I didn't tell anyone. I didn't even know what was _happening_ to me."

"Fair enough," Xavier said, making eye contact. Larry almost felt like an unwilling patient caught in a hypnotist's stare; that was how intense Charles Xavier's gaze was. "Larry, it's time I tell you _exactly_ why we're here. I would like it very much if you were to come back with us to Bayville, and attend the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters. In fact, I believe it would be vital to your personal safety."

The words took several moments to properly sink in. Larry drew back in his chair, and a short, derisive laugh left him. "Wait, wait. You think I would be safe back in Bayville? Tell me, is your institute still a hole in the ground, or have you already rebuilt it after it _exploded_?"

Frowning, Scott leaned forward. "_Listen_--" he began, only to feel Jean's hand on his chest. She gave him a look as if to say, _Hold on_.

Rather than sharing Scott's displeasure at Larry's remark, Xavier's face remained as calm as ever. In fact, there was the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips.

"While mutants may be feared by the general public at this time, the X-Men are considered to be national heroes, and have the President's personal approval. We have officially sanctioned security upgrades to ensure that our students can carry on their daily activities in peace, and since we are now public figures any move made against us would be _very _unwise.

"And tell me, do you really think this is the best place for you? Do you want to spend your life locked in this tiny house, afraid to look outside the window out of fear of who may spot you? And what if those agents who attacked you track you to this location? What could you do to stop them? We can offer you sanctuary. You can continue your education, live with other mutants your own age, and learn to control your abilities."

Larry listened intently to every word that left Xavier's mouth, mulling over what to say. He unconsciously squeezed the palm of his left hand, and his fingers traced the long, thin scar left behind from a self-inflicted knife wound. It served as a reminder of an unpleasant, unwelcome fear, and cut through his pride and any snappy rejoinders he may have thought of.

"So, Larry?" asked Scott somewhat impatiently. "What's it going to be?"

"All right," he said, perhaps too sharply. "…I'll go with you."

**---**

While Larry Trask was surrounded in the parlor, Irene busied herself with preparing a second kettle of tea and a tray of crackers to serve her guests.

"What do you want with him?" an all-too familiar voice inquired from the doorway. She had snuck away from the parlor unnoticed during the question and answer period.

"_Want?_" Irene asked back, bemused. "What is there to want? It's been months since I last spoke to you, and you haven't even given me a proper hello, my Rogue."

"Don't give me that!" Rogue snarled. "I was happy to keep my eyes closed and not ask questions about your connection to Mystique, but if you're planning to do to _him_ what you did to _me_--"

"_Love_ him, you mean?" asked Irene, placing the tray on the kitchen counter and turning to face her former foster daughter.

For a moment, Rogue was at a loss for words, but she quickly found them. "All those years…you were just raisin' me for Mystique, weren't you? And now that I've joined the X-Men, you've picked up some _other_ poor mutant to groom--"

"Calm down, Rogue. You're clearly upset." She approached the girl and placed her hands on both her shoulders. Rogue had the urge to slap those hands away, but resisted it. "Yes, I knew who Raven Darkholme really was when I entrusted you to her. And yes, we were close. But I loved you, and that was never a lie. Don't you believe me?"

Rogue swallowed hard. "I used to think…you were just a little gifted, like those psychics on TV. You'd tell me things like, 'take your umbrella' when I left for school on a sunny morning and sure enough, by the end of the day it would be storming…Professor X said you're really a clairvoyant. That's your power." Looking away from her reflection in Irene's sunglasses, Rogue gazed down at her gloved hands, now clenched into fists. "All those years you told me to cover up…to never get too close to somebody because of my 'skin condition'…they were all lies. You lied to me for _years_…"

"I tried to _protect_ you, Rogue," Irene insisted. "I could not tell _when_ your power would manifest, only that it _would_…I know that in the end my efforts were for naught, but _believe_ me--"

"Why should I?" Rogue demanded, stepping away from the older woman and pointing an accusatory finger. "You told me to believe in Mystique, and that almost got me _killed_. It almost got _Scott_ ki--!" She stopped suddenly, realizing she was saying far too much. She threw a hesitant glance over her shoulder, and saw that no one was behind her. They must all still be in the parlor, with Jean chatting Larry Trask's ear off, no doubt. They hadn't heard her outburst.

Taking in a deep breath, Rogue regained her composure.

"Now _tell me_, what do you want with that Trask guy? Why is he here?"

Irene didn't miss a beat. "We're the same, him and I. We're clairvoyant. We can see into the future. I couldn't let Larry come to harm when I could teach him so much, now could I? I can assure you the decision was my own—neither Mystique nor Magneto have anything to do with this. Do you believe _that_?"

Rogue's lips tightened, but she didn't say a word.

"All right, then. I suppose there's no alternative." Irene shook her head in sad resignation, and then stepped toward Rogue. She thrust her arm forward, extending her hand. Rogue took a nervous step back, almost as if she expected Irene to make a physical move against her.

"Remove your glove. Take my hand."

"_What_?" The woman could _not_ be serious. Rogue balked. "No!"

"You won't believe my words. Take my hand. Touch me. My memories will be yours and you will know I am telling the truth."

Rogue scoffed, "Do you know what you're asking? Irene, if I touch you, I'll _hurt_ you."

"I know exactly what I'm asking, my Rogue. I am offering my hand to you. I am offering my _mind _to you."

The moment stretched on in silence, Rogue's eyes darting from Irene's face to her outstretched hand as she debated within herself. Rogue's left hand slowly reached for her right, and pulled at the black glove…

_No_!

The hand dropped to her side. The glove would stay on. _I can't do this_, Rogue realized. _She's still _IreneNo matter how angry she was at that moment, Irene Adler was one of the select few whom Rogue could not bring herself to hurt under any circumstances.

_I won't invade her mind._ _If she was willing to let me absorb her memories it must mean…_

Irene smiled. Her voice took a softer tone. "I'll ask you again: do you believe me when I tell you that I love you?"

Rogue's gaze fell. Her lower lip trembled.

Irene hugged her. It was so sudden, so unexpected, that Rogue was taken completely unawares. Unlike the awkward touches at the institute, there was no hesitation, no fear of accidental contact with Rogue's fearsome skin. The embrace was sincere, and from the only parent Rogue had ever known.

"Don't," the girl said, shuddering and pushing the body away. "Just don't, okay? I'm willing to trust you, but don't push it."

Irene appeared dismayed, but when her eyes were not visible it tough to be sure. "I understand. Thank you, my dear one. Now," Irene said firmly, as if she had made a decision, "Let's go back. I fear I am being an inhospitable hostess." And with that she picked up the tray with the hot tea and crackers.

Rogue didn't comment, feeling only the warmth that had spread from Irene's body to her own. The welcome sensation replaced the uneasiness that had been gnawing at her stomach, at least momentarily.

---

The two women exited the kitchen and reentered the parlor just in time to hear Larry's answer. Only Logan noted their presence. His eyes met Rogue's and he nodded once in acknowledgment. Rogue returned the gesture as a sign that things were all right and he need not be wary of Irene.

"Still, I don't feel right about leaving her like this," Larry was saying as he brushed annoying strands of hair out of his eyes and behind his ear. "She rescued me, even saved my life. Our powers are virtually the same, and she knows what I'm going through…"

"It's okay," said Scott, whose voice sounded friendlier now that Larry had agreed to leave with the X-Men. "The Professor helped me—he's helped _all _the students—and he didn't need the exact same power to do it."

"I don't know…"

Irene spoke up, announcing her presence. "If it bothers you, Larry, why don't I accompany you?"

Rogue's eyes widened. Scott turned his head, and Jean gave the Professor an uncertain and questioning gaze. Logan's expression remained as pokerfaced as ever.

"I can combine my efforts in teaching you with the good professor's, and at the same time get reacquainted with my daughter…_that is_," she gave a bemused yet knowing smile to Xavier, "if he can spare a room in that rebuilt mansion of his."

Her words brought relief to Larry, who was oblivious to the X-Men's reactions. Grinning, he faced the Professor. "That would be _great_. I mean, would it be all right if…?"

Xavier answered without hesitation. "Yes. We would be happy to have you both."

Logan made a sound behind Rogue; to the perceptive ears, it would have sounded like a snort.

---

"So, you knew we were coming?" The answer was obvious, but Rogue wanted confirmation anyway.

Irene nodded as she picked up the suitcase she had packed the night before. Rogue leaned against the doorway of her foster mother's bedroom and watched her movements.

"All the necessary arrangements for my absence have been made. You know, I should really thank the professor in private. I know that, despite what I offered him, Larry will be in a more suitable environment at your institute."

"Hmm," said Rogue distractedly, glancing down the hall at her old bedroom door. She had a passing thought about checking it out, seeing if Irene had left it untouched or replaced it with a Jacuzzi or something. Before she could see for herself Larry Trask emerged from the room, a single tote bag over his shoulder. He went the other way down the hall and out the front door without seeing her.

"Are we ready to go?"

Rogue turned her head, Irene's voice having taken her by surprise. She had not heard the woman come up behind her. "I guess so." But another thought lingered. "Irene, was that guy sleeping in _my_ room?"

Irene had forgotten just how territorial a teenage girl could be. "Why, yes. Would you prefer it if he'd slept in the garage?"

Rogue scowled. "_No_, it's just…" Her voice fell and rolling her eyes, she muttered, "He just better not have _touched_ anything."

---

As Larry finished depositing his lone bag in the back of the X-Van he felt a shiver run down his spine, as if someone were watching him.

_…And this feeling usually means someone _is

Turning around tentatively, Larry found himself under Logan's gaze. The impressively-built man did not avert his eyes or make any movements, not caring that he had been caught staring. He raised one eyebrow, most definitely looking Larry over.

"Is there a 'kick me' sign on my back or something?" the boy asked dryly.

"You don't look much like your old man," he said simply, though for Logan, "simply" was synonymous with "gruffly."

Larry self-consciously ran his hand through his hair, the dark shade of which being the only visible sign of his connection to Bolivar Trask. Both Larry and Tanya had inherited their long-dead mother's softer features. "I hear that a lot."

Having apparently said all he wanted to say, Logan turned on his heel and walked away. Larry swallowed a lump in his throat, a burning, uncomfortable question on his tongue. Logan was already inside when Larry asked it, the boy having sprinted up the front lawn to catch him.

"Wait! You know my father?"

Logan turned for one final look at Trask's kid, as if he was committing his face to memory, and then entered the parlor where Xavier, Scott, and Jean were waiting. "I met him once."

Larry wanted to ask more, but something in that last look and the inflection in Logan's voice told him the single meeting between Logan and Bolivar Trask was not a matter he should be inquiring about. The certainty of that feeling did nothing to settle his fears, and another shiver of apprehension ran down his back.

* * *

**A/N:** I…live! Again, I'm sorry for the wait. Writer's block plus final exams equals one flustered Sandoz. Hope you enjoyed! 


	9. Cold Reception

**Chapter 8: Cold Reception**

Scott Summers inhaled deeply. He hadn't been sure what to expect with this mission, but the X-Jet now had two extra mutants on board and on their way to the Institute. Exhaling, he wondered whether he could consider this mission a success, even if he personally deemed one mutant untrustworthy and the other as yet an unsolved mystery.

Destiny may have once been Mystique's ally, but she remains Rogue's foster mother. I sense no malicious intent from her, and I believe it would be best for her to join us at the Institute…

…_Where we can keep an eye on her_. Scott finished the thought, multitasking as he co-piloted the X-Jet and carried on the mental conversation with the professor.

Yes, Cyclops. The use of his codename was a sign that this was serious business.

Scott took a quick look over his shoulder. Logan sat alone, feigning sleep; Irene and Rogue appeared to be catching up; and Jean was trying to engage Larry in conversation, but he kept glancing at the floor, distant and uninterested.

_So what are we going to do with Larry? Give him the grand tour? I'm sure the letters home will be interesting: 'Dad, today the mutants showed me the Danger Room…'_

Cyclops, please! Xavier cautioned him. Larry is a _mutant_. His father is a dangerous fanatic, and you cannot seriously believe that his bigotry would exclude his son, when all other evidence proves just the opposite. Larry Trask is no threat to us.

Scott sighed, remembering how he felt watching the file footage of the Sentinel ravaging the streets, targeting his friends; the sight of Rogue, Wolverine, and the others locked up in glass boxes like insects about to be pinned and mounted…Scott shook his head. The anger was still fresh.

_I'm sorry, Professor. It's not Larry, not really. But the timing of all this…it just seems so crazy. It's suspicious_.

Perhaps. But that is not our major concern right now. The young Mr. Trask has just gone through a major upheaval in his life, and we need to make him comfortable. He must be reassured that he made the right decision. Let him know he's among friends who can _understand_ him.

---

"No way!"

"Are you _kidding _me?"

"Wasn't 'Trask' the dude who…"

"Get the _hell_ out of here!"

Larry was pushed back and hit the wall; Scott and Logan acted as human shields, separating him from the teenage mutant who had nearly rushed him. The entire student body of the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters had been gathered in the front hall of the expansive, nearly-completed mansion to meet the new arrivals. Larry stood aside as Irene was introduced first; he had attended over a dozen different schools in his short life, but he had a sneaking suspicion that nothing could prepare him for being the "new kid" in this particular class.

"And this is Lawrence Trask…"

Those words were off Xavier's lips only a second before a lanky punk with multicolored hair (who, according to the outraged Jean, went by the appropriate name "Berzerker") snapped. And so Larry found himself under the protection of Scott and Logan as Berzerker seethed, bright bursts of blue electricity crackling around his clenched fists.

_Stop!_

A mental command from Xavier could not be ignored; the loud, omnipresent voice that spoke directly in Ray Crisp's head caused him to back down immediately, and the dangerous energy in his hands dissipated. He stepped back, and the other students pulled away from him instinctively.

However, one student, a clean-cut boy in khakis, sprang up for his defense. He pointed an angry finger at Larry and demanded of Xavier, "Professor, you _can't_ be serious! What's a _Trask_ doing here!"

Larry scowled; he did not enjoy hearing his name spit out like something foul and disgusting. Stepping forward to personally answer the boy's question, he felt a hand on his shoulder and it kept him in place. His head turned. To his surprise, the hand belonged to Rogue.

"Why are _any_ of my students here, Bobby?" Xavier wanted to know, his voice loud and irate. "Larry is a _mutant_, and he needs help controlling his power. That makes him one of us, and his surname is _irrelevant_."

"Then he _is_ related to that freakin' mad scientist," Ray muttered, as if it justified his outburst.

"That 'mad scientist' is my _father_, yeah." A few heads turned toward Larry, who could keep his mouth shut no longer. He balled his hands into fists, making eye contact with Ray, and then Bobby. He did not waver. "Not that it changes what _I_ am."

Someone cleared his throat, breaking the heavy, awkward silence. "Well then, welcome to the X-Men." A smiling black-haired boy with a soft German accent approached him and offered Larry his hand, which he shook with only a second's hesitation. He didn't notice how unusually _hairy_ it felt. "I'm Kurt Wagner."

Larry felt a small tug at the corners of his lips. He smiled, albeit reluctantly. "Hi."

Kurt's gesture had penetrated the air of gloom. As if nothing had happened--no harsh words, no near bodily harm--the introductions resumed, and again Larry felt that perhaps, maybe, he _had_ made the right decision.

---

"I don't _believe_ this," Ray muttered as he hung back from the crowd, watching Kurt and Kitty chatting up the Trask kid, with Scott, Logan, and Jean forming a protective semi-circle around him, as if anyone was going to make a jump on him _now_.

"Just be cool," Bobby said, trying to give him a reassuring smile and failing at it.

They heard the automated wheels roll up behind them before they heard the measured but clearly displeased voice of their professor. "Berzerker, Iceman, come with me."

_Ouch_, Bobby thought. Xavier calling them by their codenames when they weren't in uniform was worse than his father screaming "_Robert Louis Drake_!" at the top of the stairs back home. He knew they were in for it.

"Would you like to explain to me just what exactly was going on in your mind?" Xavier demanded of Ray once they were behind closed doors in his study. "You attacked that boy—_your fellow mutant_—with your power. You could have possibly _killed_ him."

"I wasn't _going_ to!" insisted Ray, who felt shame at being chastised by the man he owed so much to, but was too proud to back down. "I just—come _on_, Prof, he's a Trask! How could you let him in here? He's probably just as crazy as his old man!"

"You are in _no_ position to be a judge of Larry's character, Mr. Crisp. This institute is about control. You are supposed to help people with your power, not fly into a berserk rage at the sound of a name. Have you learned _nothing _here?"

Bobby, who had been looking at the floor and nodding his head at everything Xavier said in an effort to get things over with, glanced up. Ray's face was red from a mix of embarrassment and anger, but even _he_ could not argue with Xavier anymore.

"No…it's not like _that_, sir." He swallowed hard. Bobby knew this must be killing him. "Sorry."

"All right," said Xavier, apparently satisfied. "You'll be hearing from Logan about your punishment tomorrow morning. You are dismissed."

Ray was quickly gone. Bobby hesitated. "Am _I_ free to go?" he asked, hoping he sounded sheepish enough.

The elder mutant's frown was answer enough. "I expected better of you. You've been here long enough, and been _in trouble_ enough times to know that was unacceptable behavior."

Bobby rubbed his neck, shifting his weight from one foot to another. "Okay. Yeah, I should have kept my big mouth shut. I _am_ sorry, but you gotta admit that Ray kinda had a _point_. Not the whole, 'Argh, I'm gonna kill you' thing, but _still_. His old man, like, nearly killed the X-Men._ I _was at Area 51 too, and I saw what Trask's friends were gonna do to Wolverine and Mr. McCoy and the others…" Furrowing his brow, Bobby threw caution to the wind and said what he had wanted to say from the very beginning. "That guy said 'he's my father' like he was _proud_ of it. It'll take a lot to convince me that the apple didn't fall far from the tree."

Xavier, who had been holding his hands in his lap until that moment, stroked his chin thoughtfully and didn't immediately reply to Bobby's statement. His words were chosen carefully. "The world is a dark place for mutants at the moment. Eyes are watching us and judging us, simply because of a gene we carry. It is extremely important that we do not turn on our own kind. I certainly do hope you'll change your opinion of Larry Trask…"

Bobby raised a questioning eyebrow.

"…Because he is your new roommate."

---

Bolivar Trask was a prisoner.

He did not know where he was, though he could guess that his cell was somewhere between Area 51 in Nevada and his former research installation in Bayville, New York. Trask was receiving the treatment reserved only for SHIELD's most secret, dangerous prisoners, locked away in a small box with only the bare requirements of food and light. To the top brass of SHIELD he was not even a person, just an object that had, in their eyes, outlived its usefulness and was being stored away and all but forgotten. He knew what they must be thinking: without the Sentinel he was nothing. Trask vowed to prove them wrong.

Sitting motionless on his cot, knees drawn to his chest in a tight posture, he thought of his children. His only son was missing, and in a brilliant form of torture, Trask's jailors were telling him nothing of the case. Memories of their last communication came back to him, with Lawrence raving in the night about dreams and imploring him to help. And then he had vanished. The possibilities ran through his mind almost nonstop, but in the end there was only one conclusion about Lawrence's fate that Trask could draw. His jaw tightened.

_Lawrence_.

Sleep came uneasily that night. Trask's mind remained sharp, alert, and thinking, but then suddenly a strange sort of drowsiness came over him, like a gas or anesthesia. His eyelids were too heavy to keep open. He could feel himself slipping, try as he might to resist…

He dreamed, and he thought he dreamed of Elizabeth. Her form was dim and hazy, almost like a hallucination, but he could hear her voice in his head with perfect clarity.

"Bolivar, what have you done?"

_What I had to do_.

"You've destroyed it. You've destroyed everything. Our life together, our children…"

_Ridiculous._

"Then where is our son?"

_I did this for_ his_ sake. My only intention was to preserve the future for _Homo sapiens_, so our children could live in a world without the mutant menace_…

"You are a _monster_."

_Elizabeth_—

He dreamt that he reached for her, and took hold of her long dress, and when he touched it he knew it was real, that it was not his imagination, and that _she was here_—

Trask woke suddenly, with a hiss. A shiver ran down his spine, and he mentally cursed himself for his weakness and for being so unnerved by something that couldn't even properly qualify as a nightmare. What he felt in his heart, more than anything else, was a great and terrible longing for a woman who was dead. Her absence from his life could still bring about a real, physical aching, and it was compounded by the fact that his wife was not the only one he had now lost.

He caught a glimpse of something in the corner of his eye, something that had not been in his cell when he had fallen asleep. It rested atop the empty food tray in front of the reinforced steel door, and he rose from his cot to pick it up.

In his hand he held a simple, ordinary tarot card, and as he examined the surreal image on its front Trask took note of its title: _The Wheel of Fortune_.

* * *

**A/N:** Hmmm...What could possibly be going on with Daddy Trask? This was a short chapter, I know, but here we're seeing the beginnings of major plot points. Some of you may think I'm being too harsh on Bobby, but I have definite plans for him and this isn't mindless character bashing.

**Elrohir**: I don't know when—or if—Mystique will make an appearance, but the depth of her relationship with Irene will probably be mentioned.

**Bowles**: Sins of the father, eh? You may be onto something…

Thanks for reading, everyone! --Sandoz


	10. In Dreams

**Chapter 9: In Dreams**

Larry was being given the grand tour, though admittedly there wasn't much to see as the new Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters had yet to be completed and the students had only recently moved into their reconstructed quarters. Despite these setbacks, however, Jean was very enthusiastic and answered all of Larry's questions with a smile and a toss of her perfect red hair. Scott proved to be less than keen when it came to answering the question of how the original mansion became a smoking pile of rubble.

"An old enemy of ours, an evil mutant named Mystique, infiltrated the mansion, took over the security system, and programmed it to self-destruct. Almost everything went up with it," Scott said, looking grim.

"Do mansions usually come with a self-destruct button?" Larry inquired. The comment was not meant to sound mocking, but one look at Scott's stern countenance told him his attempt at humor was unappreciated. Larry winced. _Watch it, Trask. It's not like these people _had_ to take you in, after all…_

"_Scott_ was the one who saved all the younger students," said Jean, throwing an admiring glance the field leader's way and breaking the tension. "When he discovered Mystique's plan he took them all to safety, and with almost no time to spare."

Larry nodded his head, wishing Irene hadn't gone off with Xavier and Logan and feeling embarrassed at his newfound dependence on her. She was his anchor, someone he could assuredly count on when his life had gone topsy-turvy yet again. As yet, he was not sure how to relate to these newfound "friends".

"And here's your room," Jean announced. Larry lifted his head and stared at her, so lost in his thoughts that he had tuned her out completely as they roamed one of the Institute's sparsely furnished halls. "I hope you don't mind sharing a room, but as you already know we're a bit pressed for space right now."

"Oh…thank you. It's okay." The words came out slowly.

Scott's raised eyebrows indicated that he knew Larry hadn't been paying attention. "Do you need any help settling in?"

Larry dropped the lone bag that contained his limited number of worldly possessions. His shoulder felt sore from carrying it so long. "I think I can manage all this."

"Well, in that case…" Scott thrust his hand forward for Larry to shake. "Have a good night. Wake up call is at seven."

Larry shook it. "Yeah, you too. Thanks."  
"We're glad you're here, Larry," Jean said with a warm sincerity that was almost disarming. "Good night!"

Scott and Jean were already down the hall and fading from view when Larry managed to spit out a weak "Good night" in return. Sighing to himself, he picked up his bag with one hand and turned the doorknob with the other. A small, shocked sound escaped his throat when he laid eyes on his roommate.

His lips curled into a sneer. "Oh, this is just _great_!"

"So," Bobby said with a displeased frown, "I guess the Prof. _wasn't_ kidding after all."

"Kidding about _what_?"

Bobby stood up from the chair at his desk, shortening the distance between the two of them. He snarled, "About me having to bunk with _Larry, Son of Evil_."

At first Larry was too shocked by the audacity of that comment to say anything in return, but then the words came spilling out. "What the hell is your problem with me? I don't even _know_ you."

Bobby let out a short laugh. _Is this guy kidding_? "Your dad tried to kill the X-Men. Thanks to the Sentinel, half the planet wants us _dead. That's_ my problem."

Larry shouted back, his cheeks burning red with righteous indignation. "I had _no idea_ what my father was building under this stupid town…!" He straightened his back, looking Bobby dead in the eye. "And anyway, I thought not being ashamed of our _genes _was the _whole point_ of this club."

"This isn't a _club _you stuck up daddy's boy!" Bobby balled his hands into fists, feeling the familiar chill in his fingertips as his defenses were raised. Icing up, he smirked at Larry's shocked expression. _If he wants a fight, I'll give it to him_.

_**Stop it this instant!**_

"_Christ_!" exclaimed Larry frightfully as he heard the Professor's voice inside his head. Taken completely by surprise, he stumbled back and bumped against the door.

"Oh no…" Bobby cringed, shifting from ice to flesh.

_**I could hear your thoughts on the other end of the mansion. I thought we had already discussed this, Mr. Drake.**_

Larry thought he heard a distinct "_eep_" escape the young X-Man's lips.

_**I see another discussion is in order. I'll speak to you in morning. Now, you will both go to sleep.**_

And with that, Larry felt the foreign presence in his brain disappear. "Was that…really the professor?" he asked, momentarily forgetting his enmity for Bobby.

"Uh, yeah." He pointed to his temple and wiggled his index finger. "The Prof. was working his telepathic mojo. Kinda creepy, huh?"

"Is he _always_ reading our minds?"

"Oh, no way. It's like, sometimes thoughts are so _strong_ he can't filter out them out and…" Bobby's voice trailed off as he remembered what exactly the "strong thoughts" were that had ruffled Professor Xavier's non-existent hair. He sneered as if Larry had tricked him into consorting with the enemy.

"But whatever," he snapped. "Thanks for getting me in trouble _again_."

"Anytime," Larry said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he kicked his bag across the room to the foot of the empty bed that now belonged to him.

_Why do I suddenly feel like I'd be better off rooming with the punk who tried to _electrocute_ me?_

---

Michael Rossi ran one hand through his dark hair as he passed over several items scattered about the surface of his desk. There was a large manila folder dedicated to a certain Dr. Trask, and he had already scanned the contents: notes from his work as an anthropologist, his SHIELD file, personal records, a dossier on his activities following his departure from SHIELD, and a smaller folder solely pertaining to his research on mutants.

Trask's illustrations of _Homo superior_—his "interpretation" of a world dominated by the next evolutionary wave of humanity--reminded Rossi of the science fiction comic books he had read as a child. Green-skinned mutants with enlarged frontal lobes whipping human slaves, arenas where _Homo sapiens_ were killed for sport…if they weren't so frightening, they would be comical in their outrageousness.

"Tell us what you have on Bolivar Trask," demanded the ruddy-cheeked General Simmons on the wide monitor facing Rossi. The old man was a pompous idiot and President McKenna's lapdog, one who prided himself on his rank but in actuality was as clueless as a civilian—he certainly knew nothing about AEGIS or the continuation of the Weapon X project. Rossi could tolerate him, but only for so long.

"He was a rather forward-thinking and ambitious anthropologist when SHIELD recruited him fourteen years ago, sir. His findings and observations on human evolution were on the same page as our own, and he didn't have _half_ our resources. SHIELD took him into the fold to aid our study of mutants, which as you know had come to a standstill in the years following that Weapon X massacre in Canada. Are you getting this image?"

General Simmons gave the affirmative; he was looking at the scanned copy of one of Trask's illustrations, which had been sent over the electronic line. The sketch was of a female mutant; her head was hairless and her eyes were entirely yellow and glowing with power.

"Twelve years ago one of our New Mexico bases was infiltrated, and Trask was attacked by this mutant, who remains unidentified. Her assassination attempt failed obviously, but she was never apprehended. It was after this that Trask made a drastic change in his line of work, and instead of studying mutants he concentrated his efforts on _destroying_ them. He left SHIELD when he decided we were being too…_short-sighted_." Rossi pursed his lips before continuing, a cold and effective liar. "We don't know who he is working for now."

Simmons sneered. "HYDRA?"

"Unlikely. Our agents overseas are telling us that HYDRA is pooling its resources into cloning Weapon X with those DNA samples they stole from us, not constructing overgrown toy robots."

"Then what the _hell_ do you have for me?" Simmons snarled, his cheeks growing redder. Before Rossi could answer the line was angrily disconnected, and he found himself staring at a black screen.

"Idiot," Rossi muttered.

Reaching into his coat pocket, the colonel removed a black cellular phone and pressed the number one, activating the speed dial.

His call was received. "Fury here," said a rough, gravelly voice.

"It's Rossi. I've just finished talking with General Simmons. He wanted to know more about the Trask situation, not that he'll ever listen to _us_."

"What is the _real_ Trask situation?" Fury questioned, knowing full well that General Simmons had been kept unaware of certain events that had occurred only recently.

"Four hours ago we pulled Trask from his cell for another interrogation…we found something interesting on him when he was frisked."

Reaching inside one of the other folders on his cluttered desk, Rossi removed a sealed plastic bag containing, of all things, a tarot card. "This tarot card was in his pocket. Number fifteen of the major arcane, the Wheel of Fortune."

"And this is relevant _how_…?"

"Hold on, I'm getting to the point. Trask didn't have this card on him when he was admitted here. _Robot drones_ deliver his food for God's sake; he hasn't had any human contact in _two weeks_! He should not have had this card, and yet, he did. Only _his_ fingerprints are on it, but there's a message on the back in handwriting that doesn't match his." Rossi cleared his throat to annunciate the message carefully.

"_The Wheel of Fortune turns/I go down, demeaned/another is raised up/far too proud/sits the king at the summit --/let him fear ruin_!"

For a brief, passing moment Nick Fury was without words. He pondered the passage. "Wheel of Fortune, eh? Where's it from?"

"We ran it through our databases. It's from the Carmina Burana. We think whoever wrote it—whoever gave our old friend the tarot card—meant it as a warning."

"What was Trask's explanation for it?"

"He said he found it on his food tray after waking up. But no one's entered the cell--"

Fury cut him off. "Then someone must have placed the card on his tray before the food was delivered."

Rossi scoffed. "Nick, are you suggesting that one of my men did this? None of them would have any motivation to pull such a pathetic little scare tactic…"

"Do you have a better explanation?"

Rossi's silence was answer enough.

"I expect you to be on top of this, Mike. I don't like mysteries."

Furrowing his brow, Rossi replied, "Neither do I, Nick...But on the subject of Trasks…what about Bolivar's bouncing baby boy?"

"Lawrence Trask has effectively dropped off our radar. AEGIS still doesn't have its hands on him, but I doubt Wraith's given up on adding him to his little mutant menagerie." Fury spat the words with contempt. "And in the meantime, they still have that blue shape-shifter down in Area 51 to play with."

Rossi spit out the name in disgust. "_Mystique_." Both SHIELD and Interpol had been pursuing her for international crimes, and even _he_ could not protest the treatment she was surely receiving at the hands of Wraith's butchers.

Fury, however, stressed the matter at hand. "But right now, whatever you do, keep your eye on Bolivar Trask."

---

Bobby Drake tossed and turned in his bed, blankets twisted around his knees. Half awake, his eyes drifted to the alarm clock on his nightstand, and he let out a small groan when he saw the red numbers flashing 3:17. Next he heard a noise, and Bobby realized what it was that had kept him from sleeping soundly. Across the room Larry was thrashing about in his own bed, the bedsprings creaking in tune with his moans.

_Sick_, Bobby thought, grabbing his pillow and planting it over his head to block out the noise. _I don't wanna listen to this freak's wet dreams_.

But Larry was only getting louder. After about another thirty seconds of listening to it, Bobby sat up and raised his pillow in the air, ready to chuck it at his unwanted roommate. However, once fully alert and with nothing muffling the sounds, it dawned on Bobby that Larry was not moaning in ecstasy, but rather groaning in pain. In the darkness, Bobby could make out Larry's shape twisting as if he was having a fit, and he listened to the sounds from his lips that were actually words.

"Second door…has been opened…the world…will soon tremble…"

Bobby's eyes widened. What exactly was he hearing?

"_The world will tremble_!" the sleeping Larry said again, his voice shaky. "Long…may he reign…Hail…Hail Lord _Apocalypse_!"

There was a sting in Bobby's arm; he realized his arm was still hanging in the air, pillow in hand, and that Larry's bizarre words had stopped him cold. _What's the problem-o, Iceman_? _Loser Larry's just having a nightmare. Big freakin' deal._  
Opting not to throw the pillow after all, Bobby settled down and pulled the covers over his head before turning his back to his roommate. Eventually Larry would fall silent, but his words lingered in Bobby's mind until at last the black waves of sleep washed over him as well.

* * *

**A/N:** Trask's illustrations of a mutant-dominated future were taken straight from the X-Men comics, Uncanny X-Men #14, to be exact. (Very old school.) 

Thanks for reading, everyone! --Sandoz


	11. Pariah

**Chapter 10: Pariah**

If Larry's first morning as a student at the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters proved to be an indication of what his time there would be like, he reasoned he would have been better off if the scary men in black suits _had _dragged him away.

Larry woke up tired and sore, his head faintly aching. The first person he saw was of course Bobby Drake, who was doing his best to ignore the intruder in his room as he got dressed. However, that did not stop Bobby from glowering at Larry before he stormed out and slammed the door behind him. Larry remained in bed, reluctant to get up and face his new world. He then remembered why his roommate was in a snit. The professor wanted to talk to him about his attitude problem.

_Not_ my _problem_, Larry told himself as he retrieved his toothbrush and razor from his bag and left in search of the men's bathroom. Walking past the other bedrooms, Larry faintly hoped that he would not run into that punk _Berzerker_in the deserted, empty hall.

_Berzerker.__ Cyclops. Wolverine._ _Rogue_. These mutants all called themselves such strange names. The fact that they were all so descriptive and so accurate bothered Larry.

_And what's _my_ weird mutant name going to be? _Destiny's_ already taken…_ Larry could hear Bobby's mocking voice inside his head.

_Larry, Son of Evil_.

_---_

These troubling thoughts were washed away as the hot water sprayed from the showerhead. Tanya had once teased Larry about his long showers and his frequent swims, calling him a merman. She also called him a space case, since he was "always zoning out", but water had a way of helping Larry think. Merman or space case--he could never win with her.

The steamy water began to cool. At first, Larry thought he had simply spent too much time in the shower, but the water was not just lukewarm, it was cold—no, it was _freezing_.

"_Jesus_!" Larry exclaimed, shivering and recoiling as tiny pellets of ice sprayed out of the showerhead onto his bare, unprotected body. Even the droplets of water on the tiles had frozen over, and Larry slipped and slid as he tried to stumble out, grabbing onto the curtain for support and ripping it off the pole. He landed on his face and heard a hearty laugh from the doorway as he picked himself up.

"Real smooth, guy," Bobby laughed, his icy arm hanging in the air. Of course, why _else_ would all the water in the shower freeze while Larry was inside it?

Larry snarled, "You son of a bitch!" and jumped to his feet, but Bobby was already darting down the hall. Larry threw open the door ready to charge after him, and remembered only at the last possible moment that he was completely naked. He snatched a towel from the nearby rack and hurriedly wrapped it around his waist before pursuing his frosty roommate.

Bobby had already turned the corner of the long hallway. He had anticipated Larry's fury, but not his speed. Luckily for Bobby the nearest bedroom door on his right creaked open, one tired face peeking out to see what all the yelling was about.

"Bobby? Hey, what's…?"

Grinning from ear to ear, he slapped the pajama-clad boy on the shoulder. "Jamie! Good morning!" Tightening his grip on the boy, Bobby hurled Jamie forward and around the corner. "Take one for the team!"

Bobby could not have timed it better with a stopwatch. It was spectacular in its hilarity—wet, fuming Larry colliding with the bewildered twelve-year-old Jamie, only it wasn't a single pair of arms and legs Larry stumbled over and knocked to the ground—there were five pairs in all, as the impact had triggered Jamie's mutant ability to duplicate himself _en masse_. Larry hit the ground with another undignified _thud_ and the five little Jamies shouted in unison as they tumbled and tangled their limbs. Sniggering, Bobby sneaked away, but not before the final punch line.

Just as the scurrying feet and shouts had awakened Jamie, the sounds of falling bodies and multiple exclamations of pain awakened the rest of the hall, and soon the other new recruits, Sam, Amara, Roberto, and Ray, were gawking at the awkward sight from their open doors.

And suddenly Larry Trask's life managed to get worse.

---

The hours passed with the tremendous speed of a melting glacier, and as Rogue sat quietly in the back row of Ms. Blake's American History class she listened to the day's lecture with a meager ten percent of her attention. Balancing her chin on one hand, her apathetic eyes wandered across the room until they finally rested on an empty desk at the head of the class, an assigned seat that had been vacant ever since the X-Men were re-admitted to Bayville High.

A sigh escaped her mouth, and would be the first of many that day.

The bell eventually rang, and Rogue waited until all her classmates filed out of the room before making her move. She knew she would likely be late for lunch but she didn't care; the empty desk had finally gotten to her.

"Excuse me, Ms. Blake…do you know anything about Risty?"

The teacher was shuffling papers and hadn't seen Rogue approach; she noticeably stiffened at the sound of that husky Southern drawl. She hesitated to look up from her paperwork as if afraid that a glance from Rogue could turn her to stone.

Rogue knew that Ms. Blake _was _afraid of her, even if she was no Medusa. It was not the sort of fear that made her cower in a corner or lay awake at night; more often than not it manifested as barely-contained hostility and suspicion. Rogue's mutation wasn't common knowledge, after all. Unlike most of her friends at the Xavier Institute, Rogue had not been caught on camera using her power. This made her a dangerous mystery, and an even bigger pariah than before.

Ms. Blake's plain, pinched face twisted into a look of annoyance and even mild disgust. "Ms. Wilde was called back to England by her parents a while ago. Family emergency."

Rogue's expression fell. With her friend absent from school for so many days, Rogue had started to fear the worst. She was relieved that Risty was all right, but nevertheless…

_She's gone._

"Well?" Ms. Blake's sour voice brought Rogue back to reality. "Is that all, or are you going to continue to waste my time?"

Rogue's dejection was quickly replaced with anger. It would be so easy to threaten her teacher, pretend to shoot death rays from her fingertips, or at least give her Scott's patented "_you mess with one of us, you mess with all of us_" speech. Instead she bit her tongue and left the room, slamming the door loudly behind her.

_Screw her_, Rogue thought, still seething as she marched into the cafeteria. The startled students who deliberately backed away when they saw her coming only magnified her frustration. _Screw this_.

The meal the lunch ladies had prepared for the Bayville High student body was unremarkable, just the usual mystery meat and fruit cobbler. Rogue wrinkled her nose at the nasty smell of cooking fat, and impatiently tapped her booted foot on the linoleum floor. She heard two male voices whisper behind her.

"I don't want to eat after a _mutie_," one boy said. "They probably got radioactive germs."

"They shouldn't even be allowed to eat in the same room as us," the other muttered just loud enough to be sure Rogue heard him.

Her head snapped up; eyes flashing, she let them know they had gotten her attention. She recognized them—Tim and Ron, two muscle-brained clods in red letter jackets who were known to hang in Duncan Matthew's circle. The first day back at Bayville High after the fallout from "Mutant Day," the two of them had pinned Scott down while Duncan stole his ever-important sunglasses to provoke him into using his power so that he would be expelled. The three jocks had high-tailed it when Rogue and Kitty came to Scott's defense, but now that she was outnumbered their old bravado returned.

"What are _you _lookin' at?" Tim's upper lip curled into a sneer.

Baring his yellow teeth, Ron sniggered, "Is the big bad mutie vampire going to suck our blood?"

Rogue narrowed her eyes into dark crescents, and her balled fists began to shake. She knew they were only trying to provoke her into doing something stupid, and this time it was with their words instead of their fists. She did not need her mutant power to take down these assholes; just one move taken from Logan's self-defense class and they would be kissing the grease stains on the floor. She took a half step forward.

_It would be so easy…_

"Hey guys!" said a cheerful voice. Rogue was startled as Scott inserted himself into the lunch line and put a protective hand on her shoulder. There was an edge to his jovial smile, and his free hand touched the rim of his ruby-red shades. "Long time no see."

The two jocks almost instantly backed down, as if realizing that if they indeed forced the mutants to use their powers, _they_ would be in the immediate line of fire. They reconsidered their plan and stalked off.

"Pff, whatever, freak," said Ron dismissively, for he could come up with no better retort.

Tim added, "Disgustin'. Suddenly I've _lost my appetite_."

Rogue sighed in quiet relief once they were gone. Scott's hand lingered on her shoulder, and she was uncomfortably conscious of it. The students surrounding the mutants looked away, turning their attention back to their food, the floor, or their friends. Of course, not a single one of them had said anything when Tim and Ron accosted Rogue, let alone done something about it. The mutant problem was not _their _problem, according to their selfish logic.

"Are you okay?"

Rogue nodded once. "I wasn't going to use my power on them, Scott," she whispered, feeling guilty about her earlier violent impulses.

"I know."

"Hey you two, stop holding up the line! You gettin' lunch or what?"

Rogue flinched in response to the gray, angry lunch lady behind the counter. She looked at the boy standing at her side.

"Let's eat," Scott said with a shrug.

**---**

Rogue vented her built-up frustrations on her mystery meat, attacking it with her knife and fork. The cheap plastic did little to penetrate the tough, flavorless side of beef.

"…And that's that," she said to Kurt, who sat directly across from her at the X-Men's crowded table. "Risty's back in England. I never even had the chance to say goodbye to her."

Kurt reached across the table to touch her hand. "I'm sorry, Rogue."

"Yeah," she said with a quiet, resigned sigh, "So am I."

Despite her stomach's hungry growls, Rogue could not bring herself to eat the mystery meat. Looking at it made her think of Tim and Ron, and she was miserable enough without thoughts about _them_. Suddenly Kurt perked up, for he had noticed someone in the crowd over Rogue's head.

"Amanda!" he called, waving his hand to get his girlfriend's attention. She waved back, a pretty smile on her face. He stood up to go and greet her, but then he remembered Rogue's presence. "Er, is it okay if I…"

Rogue did not protest. "Go ahead. Eat lunch with your girlfriend."

"Are you sure?"

"Beat it, fuzzball," she said with a smirk. Kurt obeyed.

Finally deciding to take the risk, Rogue took a bite out of the mystery meat and instantly regretted it. She turned her attention to the fruit cobbler and ate in silence.

The X-Men now had their own corner of the cafeteria, ironically the same spot where the official Bayville High outcasts, the Brotherhood of Mutants, had squatted before they were all expelled. Once, there had been several splinter groups. Jean would often eat with her human boyfriend Duncan and their equally human friends, Kitty would sometimes sneak away to have lunch with her not-so-secret boyfriend Lance, and the new recruits usually tried to stay away from the "boring" older X-Men. Now they all huddled together, their ties with virtually all other students permanently severed.

Rogue could not be mad at Kurt for still having Amanda. Amanda was a nice girl--perhaps more importantly, a _brave_ girl--and Rogue knew it was selfish of her to expect Kurt to stay by her side and indulge her sullen moods. The two of them had been members of the Angst Club for so long she did not want to deprive him of his happiness.

Sitting at the other end of the table was another happy couple: Scott and Jean. Of course they would deny it, but to anyone with functional eyes the mutual attraction was obvious. The way they looked at each other, everyone else in the world might as well cease to exist.

No one had ever looked at _Rogue_ like that.

"So how about that thing with the new guy this morning?"

Roberto's question brought Rogue out of her reverie. She listened in.

Bobby waved his hand in the air, dismissing the subject. "The dude is crazy. Why else would someone start running through the hall soaking wet and naked?"

If they had not already snagged Rogue's attention, they would have then.

Kitty was shocked. "Wait, _what_?"

"And from what I saw, he practically _assaulted_ Jamie," Amara joined in, pointing her fork at the air.

Bobby smirked. "Yep. Crazy."

"I knew it," Ray muttered with a sneer.

"Actually, that's not exactly what _I_ heard," Sam said, leaning against the table and looking square at Bobby. "I talked to Jamie after breakfast, and he said that _you_--"

"_Hey_," Bobby quickly cut Sam off and changed the subject, "This meatloaf is totally barf-worthy."

Rogue silently agreed.

---

The rest of the school day passed slowly and without incident. Nevertheless, Rogue was relieved when Scott's convertible drove through the Xavier Institute's gates. Even though it had only recently risen from the ashes, the mansion was still their home, their sanctuary from the outside world.

The first thing Rogue wanted to do was see Irene. She was still somewhat uncertain of her foster mother's intentions and her renewed place in her life, but despite her trepidation Rogue wanted to narrow the gap between them. Tossing aside the backpack that contained the homework she had no plans to finish, Rogue walked up the stairs to the guest room that was now Irene's.

She knocked on the door. "Irene? It's me."

No answer.

Rogue knocked again, louder that time, but there was still no response. Finally, she turned the knob slowly and peeked inside the room. The bed was made and the room had hardly been disturbed. Irene Adler was nowhere inside it.

Sighing, Rogue closed the door. Her quest continued. She spotted Ororo down the hall and called out to her. "Hey, Ororo, have you seen Irene?"

The elder mutant paused to recollect. "Not lately, no. She was in the library earlier today, however. Perhaps she's still there."

"Okay." Rogue nodded. "The library. Thanks."

**---**

Larry sat in solitude in the library, a large number of books scattered on the table in front of him.

"_I'm afraid we don't have much here right now_," Jean had explained during his tour the previous evening. "_When the original mansion was destroyed our entire collection was lost_."

He was lucky enough to find reading material anyway. There were engineering journals he thought he would enjoy, plus various other fiction and nonfiction books for him to skim. His tutoring under Mr. McCoy would not begin until the next day, so he enjoyed his free time while it lasted.

Of course all the other students were away for the day (with the sole exception of little Jamie Madrox, whose inability to control his mutant power made it impossible for him to attend public school) and Irene was in conference with Professor Xavier, so Larry had to entertain himself. It was just as well—he had no desire to face anyone after the mortifying spectacle that morning. He was surprised by the sound of footsteps, and was positively startled when he glanced up from _The Once and Future King_ to see Rogue standing beside him.

Images of the future suddenly returned.

_The girl is the key. The girl is the key_. _The girl is the key—_

_No_. He shook the thoughts away. "Ah…hey."

If Rogue noticed anything strange about the way he looked at her, she gave no outward sign. "Hey. Is Irene around?"

He shrugged. "I haven't seen her in a while. She was meeting with the Professor, last time I checked."

A look of disappointment eclipsed her face. "Oh. Well then, I better not interrupt them."

"Uh. Guess not."

An uncomfortable silence passed.

Stealing a glance at the many books resting on the table, Rogue felt a small urge to make conversation with the new recruit. "You must be a real bookworm. Have you been in the library all day?"

"Pretty much," Larry replied. "This place is so big that if I wandered around and got lost no one would ever find my body."

Rogue smirked. "It ain't _that_ big."

Larry's shy awkwardness faded away. He returned the wry smile. "So how many mansions have _you_ lived in?"

"Oh, _you_ should know. This is the _second_ time you've moved into my place, after all."

Larry leaned back in his chair and closed the book in his lap. "I'll say this--your 'old' mansion didn't have such a great library. Back there, the only books that weren't written in _Braille_ were written by Anne Rice."

Rogue placed one hand on her hip. Her voice lost its playful edge. "Those were _my_ books."

"Oh…right."

"Well, well, well, it's so nice to hear my two darlings getting acquainted."

Both heads turned to see that Irene had joined them. Rogue and Larry were equally startled, for neither had heard her approach. She addressed the young Mr. Trask first.

"I'm sorry to separate you two, but the Professor would like to see you, Larry. He wants to discuss your formal training."

Larry's eyes traveled from Irene to Rogue, and then back to Irene. He hesitated for a moment. "Okay, sure." He stood up from his chair and gathered his books under one arm.

Rogue touched her foster mother's shoulder. "Irene, I'd hoped we could talk--"

Irene's voice was apologetic. "I'm afraid not right now. The Professor wants me to be there with Larry as well."

Withdrawing her hand, Rogue frowned. She bit her bottom lip to keep herself from saying something snappy. The day had been bad enough without her making it worse.

As Irene ushered Larry out of the library, he gazed over his shoulder at Rogue. Their eyes met.

"See you around?" he asked hesitantly, hopefully.

"Yeah," Rogue replied, flashing a weary smile. "You will."

**---**

Rogue exited the library only to bump into Bobby Drake right as she opened the door.

"Whoops, my bad," he said, but as she brushed past him he called after her. "Hey, didn't my new roommate just walk off with your mom?"

One look at his wide, eager grin told her he was fishing for gossip. She would not indulge him. "Don't get any ideas, Frosty. They have the same power, remember? They're going to talk to the Professor about training."

"Hmmph."

Remembering the conversation at lunch, Rogue thought to ask, "Why were you tellin' everyone that the new guy's crazy? He seemed perfectly normal to me."

Bobby scratched his messy hair and chuckled. "Oh, there was this _thing_ that happened this morning. You weren't around when it happened."

She arched her brow. "Is that the same thing that _Sam_ was tryin' to get in a word about?"

Bobby drew back, defensive. "Jeez, you've been spending too much time with _Scott_. Why are you giving _me_ the third degree? All the other new recruits saw it too."

Immune to the insult, Rogue let the comment about Scott slide. She rolled her eyes. "Saw _what_?"

"All right, all right…Loser Larry was chasing me down the hall—completely bare ass naked—and then ran into Jamie and knocked the poor kid down. He was practically _crushed_ under all his dupes. Everyone in my hall opened their doors in time to see it."

Rogue shook her head. "And what reason could he possibly have for chasin' a saint like you?"

He chuckled again. "Weeeeell, I did try to freeze him when he was in the shower."

"Oh, _come on_. Don't tell me this is some kinda new mutant _hazing_ you cooked up."

Bobby wasn't even trying to deny his actions anymore. He was actually proud of what he had done. "Hey, it was payback for getting me in trouble with Professor X. I figured he would be too embarrassed to rat me out, and I guess I was right."

Rogue's eyes widened with surprise. She and Bobby had never been particularly close or friendly with one another, but she still would not have expected this from him. His pranks were never this mean-spirited.

"What did he ever do to _you_?"

He scoffed. "You of all people should know where I'm coming from, Rogue. If it weren't for his dad's super-sized Transformer, you and the others would have never been captured or taken to Area 51…" The cheerful mask disappeared, and suddenly Rogue was looking at a very different Bobby Drake. "We never would have been _exposed_. Our lives would still be _normal_."

Rogue studied him, taking in every word. As he finished, she could not help but think of Ms. Blake and Tim and Ron. Nevertheless…

"But that's not _Larry's_ fault." She said his name for the first time. "Mystique blew up the mansion and almost killed you and the other new recruits. Do you blame _Kurt_ for that?"

Bobby looked away. He was obviously uncomfortable with where the conversation was heading. "That's not the same."

"You don't _really _mean that Larry should be punished for what his father did." Rogue probed deeper. "Come on, Bobby, what's the real problem here?"

He inhaled deeply. "It's not fair."

"What?"

"_It's not fair_!" Bobby exclaimed. "This whole thing isn't fair. His old man ruined everything for us…Jubilee and Rahne are _gone_. They were my friends—they were _cool_. Why did we have to trade _them_ for Trask's loony kid?"

At first, she did not know what to say. Finally, Rogue replied in a quiet, sympathetic tone, "Don't think of it like that, Bobby."

"How can I _not_?" And with an annoyed huff, he turned around and left Rogue standing in the library doorway to ponder the sad, strange situation by herself.

**---**

Cal Rankin parked his truck across the street from the townhouse, almost bumping a black SAAB as he maneuvered into the tight space. As he trotted up the steps to the townhouse's front door, Cal realized he was sweating and wiped his palms on his jeans. He pressed the doorbell and waited.

Tanya Trask unbolted the lock and looked at him through the narrow opening with curious eyes. She looked pale in the dim light, with two long braids framing her wan, tired face.

"Cal?" she said, remembering the face but having trouble with the name. "What are you doing here?"

Cal stiffened, suddenly uncomfortable. Maybe this was a mistake. "I just wanted to check on you, see if there were any…any leads. I called, but you never answer the phone."

"I almost didn't open the door. Things have been pretty nutty, as I'm sure you know. Reporters still show up…it drives us crazy." Tanya paused to look behind her and checked on Robert Chalmers, who was still in the living room where she left him watching the news. She stepped outside into the warm evening air shutting the door quietly behind her. "Let's talk out here."

Cal's arm had recovered from the compound fracture it had sustained after he had dumbly wandered in front of a moving car weeks earlier. It brushed against Tanya's body as they sat close together on the cold stone steps.

"I hope I'm not troubling you. I haven't seen you around school."

"I haven't been going."

"Oh." Cal stared straight ahead, avoiding her eyes. "I guess that's for the best, with all those rumors going around…"

His words hit Tanya like a slap in the face. "_What_?"

_Way to slip up, Rankin_. He winced.

"I know it's all trash talk, but there's gossip that maybe Larry…had something to do with all that scary stuff in Bayville. That he worked with your dad and…ran off."

"_What the hell_?" Tanya exploded. Her once-pale cheeks were now burning red with indignation. "Why does everyone believe that 'apples don't fall far from the tree' crap? Larry isn't a _psycho_—and he was never in Bayville!"

Tanya's temper was something to be feared. Backtracking, Cal said, "Don't shoot the messenger, all right? At least _I_ know Larry's cool."

That seemed to pacify her. She released a sigh and buried her face in her hands. Once again Cal felt uneasy; he wondered if maybe he should put his arm around Tanya to comfort her, but thought better of it. He then noticed the medical tape wrapped around her hand.

"What happened?"

She noticed what he was staring at. "Oh, this? …this is nothing. I was drinking out of a glass yesterday and I guess I squeezed it so hard it shattered." Her cheeks were red again, this time out of embarrassment. "My nerves are practically shot."

"I bet," said Cal lamely, thinking anything else he said that this point would be useless. A silence followed, the only sounds in the air belonging to the Subaru that rolled past them on the street, windows down and bass thumping.

"I saw you on the news a while ago," Cal offered. "Nice _throw_."

"Oh God," Tanya whimpered, hiding her face with her hands, "I don't want to talk about _that_."

"I was just going to add, if it were me, I would have thrown something a lot bigger than a _shoe_ at those jerk-offs."

Tanya made a sound behind her hands that might have been a chuckle. Cal smiled sadly.

"You know," Cal said, voicing the thoughts that had been plaguing him, "I just feel so bad about all this. Not just about Larry's disappearance, but, well…the last day he was at school, he was really freaking out. I think he was trying to tell me something important, but I just laughed it off. Then I got in that accident like the dumbass I am, and then…he was gone."

"Hmmm."

"And there's something else…I know it sounds totally stupid, but I had a dream about Larry that night. I guess his freakout had gotten under my skin, but I remember--and this is weird--it was before I even heard he went missing or what your dad was doing. That…_Sentinel_ thing was _attacking_ Larry--"

"_Don't_." Tanya hissed behind clenched teeth. "I _do not_ want to hear anything about my brother being attacked. I don't care if it _was_ a stupid dream."

"I'm sorry!" Cal blanched. _Yeah, Rankin, you really_ are _a dumbass_.

"What I was getting at was that it was so stupid to dream about that robot going after Larry as if he was one of those _mutants_. Larry's the most _normal _guy I know. Not a _freak_." He paused, taking in a deep breath. "I really want him to be okay too, Tanya."

She exhaled. "Mutants…"

Turning his head slightly, Cal stole a glance at the girl sitting beside him. Her legs pulled up to her chest, Tanya stared ahead into the blue evening sky, surely thinking of her brother. She was pale, cheerless, utterly crushed. She was a shadow of herself.

In all honesty, Cal had never liked Tanya. The few times Larry had invited him over to his place, she had been the typical bratty baby sister. Always complaining about something—the food Larry cooked for dinner, the movies he and Cal tried to watch on TV, the curfew her father had set. Cal had always thought Larry was lucky to have a father almost always away and a house to himself, but now Cal understood—Larry might as well be the son of _Frankenstein_, with a mad scientist like that for an old man. Cal's own workaholic father paled in comparison. So, for the first time, he found himself sympathizing with the youngest Trask child.

"Mutants…" she repeated. Cal saw there was a new expression on her face. Her grief had been replaced with a look of grim determination, as if she had made an important realization.

"That's _it, _Cal. _Mutants_. The _mutants_ took Larry."

* * *

**A/N: **Another late update, but at least this chapter is longer than most. Originally Cal was supposed to reappear much earlier and play a bigger role in the story, but his part was cut dramatically in order to speed things along. His dream about Larry was just a little reference to the comics, so he won't be taking the name of The Mimic anytime soon. 

Thanks for reading, everyone! --Sandoz


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